


Dangan Ronpa Re_dux

by Deadcanons



Series: Re:kin_dux [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Multi, Near Future, Original Character(s), Other, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 244,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3614475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadcanons/pseuds/Deadcanons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to Re:kindle has begun! I hope you enjoy it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

DANGAN RONPA RE_DUX

PROLOGUE: Strength Through Chaos

            The light switches on every morning at exactly seven AM.

            It illuminates the featureless, slate gray of the ceiling like an overcast sky, making my lower eyelids pull up in a wince. Though my eyes are sensitive from being in the dark for so long, the light doesn’t make the room much brighter. It’s still dim and fairly hard to see. On the nights when I can’t sleep I’ll try to count the seconds until the light turns on. As of yet I haven’t pulled it off, but here’s hoping.

            I sat up in bed, staving off the unpleasant shiver that tried to crawl up my back. The thin bed sheet scratched against my legs; I shoved it off. It’s not like the thing was doing much to keep me warm anyway. Somehow, if possible, the addition of the light made the room even colder than it already was. I grimaced at the light fixture, which was situated above the door to the left of me. The door that was locked from the outside and never opened, ever. Because it was a prison cell. Obviously.

            I rapped a knuckle on the wall behind me. “You up?”

            A grimace and the sound of a bed sheet rustling drifted up to me through the thin crack between my cell and the adjacent one. “Barely,” Aaron grunted in response.

            “Close enough,” I said. “Might as well talk while we wait for breakfast.”

            “Or we could just go back to bed.”

            “Really?” I muttered. “If you think you can manage that with how cold it is in here, then be my guest.”

            “Whatever,” he said.

            Aaron was situated in the cell across from me. For whatever reason, there was a crack between our cells that allowed us to communicate. It had been there at least as long as we had—about a month. As for anyone else that might be here… neither of us had any idea.

            We had both been selected as students to go to the legendary Hope’s Peak Academy, a prestigious series of schools located all across the world. Only those that were the top of their field were allowed to go there: I was invited as the Super High School Level Performer. My memories about all of it were a bit hazy, but as I recall I was en route to the school when I was captured and imprisoned here. I wasn’t sure why, or by whom, but there wasn’t much I could do about it, anyway. I woke up in this cell, and the door has never opened since. They feed us three times a day from a little slot in the floor, so there’s no chance of escaping there. I have no choice but to just wait it out.

            Oh yeah, I probably should have mentioned my name. I’m Mads McBride.

            “Hey,” Aaron said abruptly.

            “Yeah?”

            “I… Is it just me, or… does something seem weird about today?”

            I paused. “I know what you mean. It feels different somehow.”

            I heard sheets rustling. Maybe he was sitting up. “Different like how?”

            “Like… Like special, I guess. Like today isn’t going to be exactly the same as the past 30 have been. As though someone or something new is here—” I gestured weakly, even though he couldn’t see it “—right outside that cell door. Just this sorta weird feeling in my stomach.”

            He was quiet for a moment. “Huh.”

            “Pretty stupid of me to sound all hopeful like that, yeah?”

            “If you’re wrong, sure.”

            I frowned. “What, you think I’m right?”

            “I think it’s possible.”

            “Anything’s possible when we’re locked in these cells. Ragnarok could be going on outside and we’d be none the wiser.”

            I heard him huff. “Yeah, suppose so.”

            We were both quiet for a moment. “Breakfast should be arriving soon, yeah?” I said finally.

            “I think so,” he said.

            I leaned my head back on the cell wall and slid my eyes closed, listening to the sound of my own breathing. Most of my days consisted of nothing but this—just sitting around and waiting. As for what I was waiting _for_ , exactly… well, your guess is as good as mine.

            Despite how cold it was, I was still pretty tired. I’d never been used to getting up as early as seven before I got trapped here, and despite doing it every day on the dot for the past 30 days, I still wasn’t used to it. I’d much rather sleep in for another hour or two, and I definitely would if it wasn’t for that damn light. Resting my eyes for a while felt nice, even this early in the morning.

            But the more time passed like this, the more I began to notice that something was wrong.

            I blinked my eyes open, then muttered, “Hey… shouldn’t breakfast have arrived by now?”

            It was a moment before Aaron responded, his tone dubious. “Yeah. A good ten or fifteen minutes ago, I’d say. I wonder if something’s wrong?”

            We both fell silent, listening. We could almost never hear anything outside of the solid stone doors of the cells, thick enough to almost be soundproof, but that didn’t stop us from trying to listen in. I swallowed, every part of me attentive to the tomb-like silence around me. Not a single murmur broke through the quiet.

            “…Hmm,” Aaron breathed after a minute. “Maybe there’s—”

            He was cut off by a sudden crackle of static that faded into steady background noise, like a speaker clicking on. The sound was heavy and oppressive, as though it was coming from all around us, pressing down on us from above. There were no speakers or microphones or anything in my room, so I had no idea where the sound was coming from, but it was undeniably real. After a moment, a scratchy, oddly-pitched voice spoke above the static:

            “Ah-h-h-hem. This is your, eh, _warden_ speaking. I’m sure you bastards have been positively bored out of your minds since you got here, but it’s okay, because you don’t have to worry about that anymore! You’re going to have some very busy days ahead of you now. I’ve unlocked your cell doors, so go ahead and come on out. Socialize! Get to know each other. Then make your way to the cafeteria, where we’ll be able to have a proper discussion.”

            And with that, the noise clicked off, leaving us in total silence again.

            I realized I was breathing a little heavily and caught myself, trying to shake the sudden shock that had entered my system. I called into the crack, “What do you think we should do?”

            Aaron’s tone communicated the same shock that I felt, but also something like exasperation. “We’ll have to do what the voice said, I guess. I don’t see us having many other options.”

            “Well—hang on,” I said. “What if it’s a trap? We can’t just walk out there blind.”

            “How do you suggest we prepare ourselves then?” he said, a little sharply. “We don’t have any weapons or any way of seeing what’s out there. Our only choice is to hope for the best.”

            “I…”

            “Just meet me out there, alright?” he said. “I’m sure we’ll be fine, at least for now.”

            “Wait…”

            But he didn’t wait. I heard the sound of his cell door creaking open, followed by a thud as it closed. And then the silence, back yet again. I stood there in the dim coolness, head spinning in the chaos of everything that had just happened.

            Should I really just _go_ out there? Something in the pit of my stomach told me that the voice we’d heard was very, very bad news. All of it felt and sounded unnatural and dangerous. I never thought I’d feel this way, but in that moment I wanted nothing more than to stay in my cell. I stared at the door. A myriad of possibilities waited on the other side, and I was defenseless to all of them.

            I hesitated a moment longer, taking a sweeping glance around my cell for anything I could possibly use—but of course there was nothing there. I had no choice. Either I went out there blind, or I stayed in here to rot. I took a deep breath, then firmly gripped the handle of the cell door. It was sticky from being out of use, but one firm press was all it took to make it swing inward.

            Standing on the other side was a girl, one hand lifted as though she’d been about to open my door.

            She was incredibly tall—one of the tallest girls I’d ever seen. She had long, pin-straight hair of a perfect black, and one thick strand of it fell over her right eye, the other side of the part pushed back over her ear. Her visible eye sparkled a dull, dark blue, and she studied me with a subtly narrowed, vaguely curious expression, lips folded into a thin line. Her face was hard and ridged and worn, as though she’d just gotten back from spending a year or two out in the forest. Beneath her curtain of hair the contours of a scar were visible. She was wearing a tight white tank top and baggy blue cargo pants, tucked at the bottom into a pair of lace-up black boots. A strip of olive scarf was tied around her left forearm.

            “H-Hi,” I said, taken aback. “Who’re you?”

            “Nikita,” she said simply. Her voice was low and unexpectedly Russian.

            “Uh… are you…” I peered past her into the corridor. The halls of the prison were solid gray stone, much like the cells themselves. I saw a cell door to my left, presumably Aaron’s, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Are you a student?”

            Her eyes absently followed my gaze as I looked around. “Yes, I am. Your cellmate departed only a few moments ago.”

            “Where did he go?”

            “Down this left corridor,” she said, nodding in that direction.

            “Okay, thanks,” I said, but she didn’t move out of my way. She went back to studying me as she had earlier, expression now drifting towards unnerving.

            “And what is your name?” she asked.

            “Mads McBride.”

            “Madison,” she said, then bobbed her head lightly.

            “No, just Mads. I don’t like the name Madison.”

            “But it is your name, is it not?”

            “Well—yes, but I don’t like it.”

            “No one ever likes who they are.”

            I huffed. “Listen, could you just get out of my way? I kind of wanted to catch up to that other guy.”

            Her frown almost imperceptibly deepened. “And why would that be? The only reason you would feel an attachment to him would be if the two of you had prior communication. Meaning that you have found a way out of your cell before now.”

            I was a little taken aback. Was she suspicious of me? I was just another prisoner, wasn’t I? “There’s a crack in the wall between our cells. You can look if you want.” I stepped aside, gesturing.

            Nikita gave me a vaguely appraising glance (most of her expressions seemed pretty vague), and then stepped inside the cell. She noted the crack with a nod. I considered making a run for it, but forced myself to stay. I should make _some_ sort of attempt to have a good first impression.

            She turned her head to look at me, still physically facing the crack. “What is your title, Madison?”

            “ _Mads,_ ” I grumbled. “And it’s Super High School Level Performer. What’s yours?”

            Her expression didn’t waver. “I do not remember it.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Nothing more or less than what I said,” she responded. “My title is no longer within the bounds of my memory.”

            “So—what? Someone messed with your head?”

            “It is possible.”

            I couldn’t think of a good response, so I just stared. It looked like all of the prisoners here were slated to go to Hope’s Peak, not just Aaron and I. That wasn’t my main concern at that moment, though: I had no idea what to make of this girl. Was she trying to mess with me, or were her actions and behavior sincere? Her blank expression offered no answers, and that unnerving feeling suddenly returned. “Alright, well, I’m gonna go find the others now.”

            “May I accompany you?”

            I blinked, once again surprised by her actions. I really wasn’t sure how I felt around her, but I didn’t want to be an asshole by saying no. Maybe she was just socially awkward? She occasionally crossed and uncrossed her arms, as though uncomfortable with how she was carrying herself. Yeah, maybe she just felt out of place, and this was her way of coping. “Sure, I guess,” I told her.

            “Thank you,” she said simply, walking up to me. “You may lead the way.”

            Now feeling like I had a little more space, I took a quick stock of my surroundings. The corridors of the prison were flush with the cells themselves—all gray, featureless stone. The doors appeared to be steel or iron, and were set into the stone by a few inches. There were two doors across from me, and two behind me: mine and Aaron’s. Nikita said that Aaron had gone down the corridor to my left, so I headed in that direction to find that this corridor looked exactly the same as the previous one: four cell doors, two on either side. In the far left and right corners, however, were two new corridors leading to apparently new sections of the prison.

            Standing just outside one cell door was a sharp-looking girl with medium-length, vaguely messy, reddish-brown hair. She was wearing a loose green blouse and her eyes darted about the corridor with a sense of agitation. Upon spotting Nikita and I, she focused her attention on us, watching closely as we approached. “Hello,” she said, guarded.

            “Hi,” I said, and gave her the full introduction, title included.

            “I am Natasha Krasivvy,” she said in response, seemingly appreciating my forward attitude. “I am a Super High School Level Linguist.”

            She had a Russian accent as well. Was this entire prison going to be an army of Russians against Aaron and I? “That’s a pretty cool title,” I said. “So do you know a lot of languages?”

            “Four,” she said flatly. “English, Russian, French, Japanese.”

            Her accent was much thicker than Nikita’s, but quite pretty to listen to. She seemed to speak in short and simple phrases, however, so it looked like I wouldn’t be hearing all that much of her voice. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” I said.

            “You as well,” she said, eyes almost immediately flicking upwards. “Who is your friend?”

            “This is Nikita,” I said. “She’s hanging out with me while we meet everyone.”

            Nikita nodded once at Natasha, and said nothing. I glanced between the two of them for a moment. “Right. Anyway, see you around.”

            “You as well,” Natasha said.

            At the end of that corridor, lurking near the hallways that led further into the prison, was a wily-looking kid wearing a Nirvana tee and a beaten-up flannel, his jeans ripped up and down the legs. He had a shock of orange hair and bright, inquisitive eyes. He didn’t notice us immediately as we walked up, as he was too focused on peering down the hallway to his right.

            “Hi,” I said, introducing myself. He started slightly at my voice, but immediately calmed.

            “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m Malcolm McDowall, the Super High School Level Vocalist.”

            “Cool,” I said. “You do a lot of singing?”

            “Yeah,” he said, somewhat sheepish. “I’m not much of a public performer, though.”

            I nodded. “So what are you looking at over here?”

            “I think this corridor leads to where the cafeteria is,” he said. “You know, where that voice told us to go when we were done meeting each other? I saw most of the other students go over here as well, but I guess I’m a little nervous.”

            “It’ll be alright,” I assured him.

            “Are you guys going to head over there now?”

            “Not yet,” I said. “I want to poke around a bit more.”

            He considered. “Alright. Maybe I’ll head over there when you do.”

            “Sounds good.”

            After I was done talking with him I forked to the right, down the next corridor. This section of the prison appeared to be oriented in a box, with four identical hallways that had four cells down each of them—sixteen cells in total. I figured I’d start counting the number of students to see if the numbers matched up.

            Near the end of the corridor a group of three students were talking together, studying one another in half-suspicion. The first to catch my eye was a shorter boy with dark, shoulder length hair and dull brown eyes. He was wearing a dark green hoodie and a black and gray striped shirt. A handful of chains hung from various locations on his jeans. His left ear was pierced with a stud that glinted in the low light. As we approached he offered a small half-wave, thus garnering the attention of the other two students with him.

            “Hey, you guys, come on over here,” he said to me. “I promise we’re not crazy axe-murderers. Well, at least I’m not.”

            I offered introductions for myself and Nikita to the three of them.

            “I’m Jack Hands,” the first guy said, in a light British accent. So much for the Russian army. “Super High School Level Rockstar.”

            “That’s quite the last name,” I said.

            He laughed lightly. “Yeah, I know. I think it’s pretty cool though.”

            I nodded as one of the girls next to him stepped forward, arms crossed and expression critical. She was wearing a light blue flannel over a black tank top, black boots and a heavily worn pair of jeans. A checkered blue bandana pulled her dark brown hair back out of her face, revealing intelligent brown eyes and a pair of thin lips that always seemed to be playing at a half-smile. She gave me a thorough once-over and said, “I’m AJ Orban, the Super High School Level Novelist.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “Novelist, eh? You published anything?”

            “Working on it,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. “You _performed_ anything?”

            “Obviously,” I grunted.

            “Touchy,” she said, then smiled. I smirked back.

            “Right, anyway,” the third person said, knitting her eyebrows together. “I’m Laura Peapenburg, the Super High School Level Cattle Showman.”

            She was of average build, with short, messy brown hair and light blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. She was wearing a heavy-looking military coat with “Geis” printed on the right breast and equally heavy-looking fire boots that came halfway up to her knees. She watched me with an expression that somehow managed to be both casual and suspicious at the same time.

            “Nice to meet you,” I said. “So cows?”

            “Yes, cows,” she said. “I’m a very big fan of cows.”

            I nodded. Wasn’t much of a cow person myself. “So what were you guys talking about?”

            “Just trying to figure out what’s going on here, is all,” Jack said. “What I find really odd is that that voice was speaking to us, but there’s no speakers or anything in any of our cells.”

            “Or outside, for that matter,” Laura added. “It’s very strange.”

            I made a face. “I noticed that too. It is really weird.”

            “There’s gotta be some sort of explanation,” AJ muttered. “It’s not like the guy’s a fucking wizard or anything, right? Because it’s already been a long day and I don’t think I can handle super powers on top of everything else.”

            “I’m sure he’s not a wizard,” I said with a light grin.

            After talking with them I made my way into the final corridor of the prison area, but there was no one else around. I figured, then, that my next move would be to head into the secondary area of the prison, where Malcolm had said the cafeteria would be. On the way there I didn’t see the student in question—it looked like he’d already moved on without us.

            Down the hallway I was surprised to find two more cell doors along the inner wall. Did that mean there were even more students than the 16 I’d originally assumed? That seemed really strange to me, but I couldn’t figure out why. Looking closer, I noticed a portrait was hung on each of the two doors, with a picture of a student on each one.

            The first held a picture of a bright-eyed, freckled girl with dark orange hair. She stared into the camera with focused, unwavering intent. The caption beneath her read “Halley Lador.” The second was a picture of a tall, imposing kid with long, light brown hair. His expression was completely flat as he stared into the camera. His caption read “Dexter Lessman.”

            My curiosity was strong enough to compel me to backtrack to the other corridor leading in the same direction. There, I found two more cells, just like in the previous hallway, and once again, two more picture frames. One of them was a boy with messy, short brown hair and thick rimmed glasses, staring at the camera with an almost troubled gaze. The caption read “Jake Grimes,” and I was struck with the worrying feeling that this person was familiar to me. The other was of a young girl with wide, bright blue eyes that stared at the camera with such an intensity as to set it on fire. Her caption read “Jillian Diamond.” Confused, I made my way further inward.

            The next area was wide and open, with a door visible on each of the three walls. The floor was empty stone, just like everywhere else, and a few students milled about. I was startled when a voice called out to me from the wall behind me, its owner at first out of sight. “Oh, there you are.”

            I turned. A tall kid was standing behind me, leaning on the opposite wall. He had messy brown hair and a matching scraggle of a beard, a shaped and entirely unexpected ahoge poking up from the top of his head. From his neck hung a bright red, diamond-shaped necklace that stood out against the solid black of his shirt. Over this was a black and gray striped jacket, the sleeves rolled up despite the relative coldness of the prison. He studied me with a critical expression from behind a thin pair of glasses.

            “Aaron?” I asked, dubious.

            “Well yeah, obviously,” he said. “You don’t know anyone else here, do you?”

            “Then how’d you recognize me, smartass?” I said.

            “You’re the only student I haven’t met yet,” he said flatly. “Well, you and your friend. Who’s this?”

            “Nikita,” I said. I’d almost forgotten she was with me, but glanced back to see that she was indeed standing about a foot behind me, her visible eye narrowed as she studied Aaron.

            “Uh, okay? Nice info dump there.” When I didn’t offer anything more, he sighed. “Anyway, you know me, I’m Aaron Feitelberg.”

            “And your title?” Nikita asked. I already knew it, but didn’t say anything.

            “Super High School Level Actor, at your service,” he said, offering her a sociable grin. She didn’t seem to pick up on it much.

            “So you say you’ve met the other students already?” I asked.

            “Yep,” he said. “All 15 of them.”

            I blinked. “15? But there’s like, 20 cells in here. How come there’s only 15 students?”

            “21 cells, actually,” he said, then sat up to gesture behind him. In the middle of the opposite wall was yet another cell door. “I have no idea why there’s only 15 students, though. Or what’s up with the pictures on some of the doors.”

            This final one had a picture as well. I walked closer to see a girl—or perhaps a boy, it was unclear—with short, dark hair pulled into tight little curls all over their head. They had dark features and intelligent eyes, a small smile playing at their lips. The caption read “Momo Collins.”

            I looked back towards Aaron and Nikita. “I have no idea what the hell any of this shit is.”

            “Great, glad we solved that mystery,” Aaron muttered.

            “Strange,” Nikita said, narrowing her eyes and glancing to the side. “If what you say is true, and there are 15 of us in total, then that means there are 15 cells that belong to students and five cells that have pictures on them. That leaves one cell that is entirely unmarked and unclaimed.”

            “Good point,” Aaron said. “I wonder why.”

            “For now I should probably go introduce myself to the other students,” I said. “We can work on weird mystery shit like this later.”

            “Alright,” Aaron said, returning to the wall. “See you around.”

            “See you.”

            Near the middle of the room were two more students, one sitting on the floor and the other lying down. The first was a petite girl (I think?) with bright hazel eyes and fluffy brown hair, lips pressed together in a thin line as she studied me on my approach. She was wearing a chipped Iron Cross necklace that dangled over a light green tank top and camouflage capris. The black converse offset all the green nicely, and matched the black bits of the necklace. I was oddly compelled to complement her on her nice work with color coding.

            “Hi,” I said, going through the preliminary introduction yet again.

            “Hey,” she said, smiling lightly and getting to her feet. “My name’s Ash Aguirre. I’m the Super High School Level Historian.”

            “So, uh,” I snapped and pointed. “Awkward question. You’re a girl, right?”

            “No, actually. I’m not a girl or a boy,” _they_ said, seeming to brighten slightly at the fact that I’d asked.

            “Really?”

            “Yep. Just a cool relatable teen trying to have a good time in prison hell.”

            “Well no shit,” I said. “I’m nonbinary too.”

            “Oh?” They looked briefly taken aback. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice. You should have said something!”

            “Yeah, I know, but…” I shrugged lightly, making a face. “It’s one of those really difficult things to bring up in casual conversation, you know? Like, ‘Hey, my name’s Mads! I have no gender! Please refer to me in only the ways I say so!’ It comes off as a little whiny, I guess.”

            “There’s nothing whiny about asking for respect,” Ash said, suddenly serious. “If someone’s going to judge you for that, that’s probably not a person you want to be around to begin with.”

            I nodded. “Yeah, that’s a pretty good point. Though _you_ didn’t tell _me_ you were nonbinary. I had to ask.”

            They rubbed at their neck, cringing lightly. “Ah, shit, well… I guess it is a _little_ hard to bring up.”

            “No worries,” I said, grinning.

            “Hey, well, when I’m talking to the others, I’ll mention that you’re nonbinary if I can, okay?”

            I blinked, a little surprised. “Wow, okay. Thanks.”

            “No problem,” they said, returning my smile.

            Suddenly I heard a sigh from near my feet. The girl lying on the floor yawned, propping herself up on her elbows. “Oh shoot. Did I fall asleep?”

            “Seems so,” Ash said.

            “Dang it.” She sat up, wiping some hair out of her face. Her hair was dark brown, but faded to a soft blonde near the bottom. It stood out against the black of her Batman hoodie, the sleeves pulled up to her elbows. She was wearing denims and a faded, marble-patterned pair of sneakers.  As she got to her feet she watched me in passive moments with tired, greenish-brown eyes.

            “Hey,” I said. “What’s your name?”

            “Oh, right, sorry,” she said, offering a hand, which I took. “I’m Bree Whipple, Super High School Level Flag Twirler.”

            “Bree,” Nikita said almost immediately. “As in Brianne?”

            “Uh, yeah,” she responded, looking slightly surprised.

            Nikita nodded once. “I will refer to you as such, then.”

            Bree glanced at me, looking for some sort of an explanation. I did my best to avoid eye contact. “Uh, okay,” she told Nikita. “If you want to. I think Bree is much easier, but I don’t mind Brianne.”

            Ash had been watching all of this in silence, but at this moment they chose to speak up, shooting a question at Tallsy McLongNames. “Hey, so… Who are you, anyway?”

            “Nikita,” she said simply, lowering her head and slipping her eyes half-closed.

            Bree and Ash exchanged a quick glance at the lack of further explanation. Now almost fully convinced that she just had some sort of social shortcoming, I intercepted. “She doesn’t remember her title. Maybe she’s just a little foggy from sleep.”

            “Or my memories have been tampered with,” she added.

            “That’s certainly strange,” Bree said. “But why would someone mess with your memories?”

            “Why would being sleepy make her forget her title?” Ash countered. “Neither explanation really makes sense.”

            Bree offered a somewhat strained smile to Nikita. “Well, it’s a mystery we’ll have to solve at some point.”

            I watched her nod in response, then shot a quick grin to the others. “Right, okay. I’ve still got students to meet, so I’m gonna take off. I’ll see you guys around.”

            I made my way to the room on the right, pushing the door inward. Nikita followed close behind. I was surprised to find that we were now in a small library of sorts: the walls and floor were still the same solid stone as before, but were partially hidden by a series of tall wooden bookshelves. Many of them were fully stocked, though with what I couldn’t say. What would a prison need a library for?

            A girl was standing near the back with a book in hand, studying the pages with a look of consternation. She had hair that fell to her the nape of her neck, framing a calm and tired-looking face. She was wearing a brown, black, and white checkered jacket over faded jeans and a beat-up pair of shoes. I made my introduction quick—this was starting to feel a little repetitive.

            “Hey, nice to meet you man,” she said. “M’name’s Isabelle Seagrave, Super High School Level Chess Player.”

            “Nice to meet you too,” I said. “What are you reading?”

            She huffed in a soft laugh. “Great question. I have no fucking idea.”

            “What do you mean?” I said.

            “Look.” She tipped her wrist so the open pages of the book were facing me. I was startled to see that they were blank. She held it closer, so I took the book and flicked through it. Every page, empty.

            “Wow,” I said. “That’s fucking weird.”

            “They’re all like that,” she muttered. “This prison is goddamn unhinged.”

            I was going to respond, but then the library door swung open. I turned to see a girl with sharp blue-green eyes and curly blonde hair that clung around her face striding towards us. She was wearing an oversized gray sweatshirt from some University that I didn’t bother reading the name of and a pair of skinny jeans that were probably a little _too_ tight. Her face was framed by not only a pair of grade-A hipster glasses, but also what appeared to be a permanent smirk.

            She walked directly up to Isabelle and said, “Nee-san. I have encountered a serious problem with this prison.”

            “What, you mean a problem beyond the fact that all the books aren’t actually books?” she responded.

            “Yes, beyond that,” she said, a little sharply. “We’ve already gone over that at least three times, _Isabelle._ I’m the Super High School Level Librarian here, not you. If anyone should be this hell-over-heaven _boned_ about these books, it’s me.” She sighed. “Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that we are utterly screwed. We are positively iced. We are entrenched in a war of epic proportions against the horrific enemy that is this prison’s one, singular fault—besides the fact that it’s a prison, that is. What I’m trying to say is that we’re _fucked,_ nee-san. We’re fucked because this prison doesn’t have any ice cream.”

            “Are you actually kidding me,” I said.

            “Wait, you went into the cafeteria?” Isabelle asked her. “I thought we weren’t allowed to do that until we’d talked to everyone.”

            She made a face. “Yeah, I guess that’s what the guy said. But the door was open, and there’s nothing wrong with me scoping the place out. No one was even in there, so I honestly don’t see what the big deal is.”

            Isabelle stared for a moment, then shook her head. “Alright, KK Slider, chill. You’re gonna scare away our guest. Maybe you should introduce yourself?”

            “Our guest?” she said, looking at me. “I didn’t know we _owned_ the library now.” Her smile widened. “I’m Kayla Seagrave, the Super High School Level Librarian. It is so _very_ nice to meet you stranger, and I hope you enjoy yourself in our new home. A home which is a shitty library full of books that don’t have any words in them.”

            “This is my _sister_ ,” Isabelle clarified. I could tell that she was trying to act serious, but she was occasionally stifling a grin as a result of Kayla’s antics.

            I shook my head, stuck somewhere between amazed and annoyed. “Alright, great. Nice to meet you guys. Good luck with your books.”

             “See?” Isabelle said, glancing at her sister. “You’ve scared ‘em off.”

            Her grin somehow got wider. “I appreciate the compliment, nee-san, but surely it wasn’t me. If anything, they’re probably leaving because of these weird ass books.”

            “Fair enough,” Isabelle said with a slight nod.

            She offered me a wave as I walked out, the sound of Kayla’s voice drifting after me: “Now, as I was saying, about that ice cream…”

            I sighed as I exited the library, running a hand over my eyes. As I removed it, I blinked a few times and looked to the side to see Nikita staring at me. “What?” I muttered.

            “Nothing,” she said, then looked away, the dark hair over her eye putting her face out of view. “Apologies.”

            “It’s fine,” I said, a bit confused. I had half a mind to say more, but then I caught sight of a new figure lurking at the other end of the room. He was fairly short, with messy blonde hair that had been combed to the right and light, steel gray glasses. His shirt was blood red and he was wearing a pair of checkerboard skinny jeans—a striking outfit, to put it lightly. I walked across the room and introduced myself.

            “Oh, hey,” he said, bright blue eyes darting around the room. “I’m Jacob Onifer, Super High School Level Mathematician.”

            “Nice to meet you,” I said, then nodded towards the door a few feet away from us. “So what’s over here?”

            “The sign above the door says ‘Armory’,” he said, glancing towards it. “But it’s locked, so I haven’t been able to look inside.”

            I recalled what Kayla had said, about the cafeteria being open, and made a face. “That seems weird. Why would this door be locked, but not any of the others? And why would a prison need an armory?”

            He frowned. “Maybe for the guards?”

            “I guess that’s possible,” I said, but was shaking my head as I did so. “Still, seems odd.”

            “Yeah. Anyway, I guess I’ll see you later.”

            “Alright.”

            I made my way to the final door in this area, which just so happened to be the door to the cafeteria. I considered heading in, but figured that it’d be a better idea to locate the other students first. How many of them were left, anyway? With fifteen total, it couldn’t be too many… I turned, thinking I would ask Nikita if she’d kept count, but was startled to see that the girl in question was standing mere inches behind me, staring at me with brutally focused intent.

            I stepped back in surprise. “H-Hey…”

            “I… wanted to…” she glanced away, as though searching for words amid the featureless stone. “Explain something. Or attempt to, at the very least.”

            “Oh…” I said, watching her. There was a pause. “Okay?”

            “My…” she settled on a word but seemed dissatisfied with it and picked another. “… _decision_ to refer to you by your full first name. It isn’t something I… have control over.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, unsure as to whether or not I should be taking offense.

            “It is as if I… _have_ to refer to you that way,” she said. Her visible eyebrow narrowed in consternation. “As though I were _designed_ to do so.” She lifted her gaze back up to mine—focused, deliberate. “Like a certain person… _thought_ of me speaking in a certain way, and in doing this made it so.” She paused. “Do you understand?”

            She was giving me the most intense look possible, as though staring me down would help me make sense of the chaos that had just left her mouth. After a moment I faintly shook my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            “Ah…” She quickly looked away. “Perhaps some other time, then.”

            I shook myself free of something that wasn’t there. “Listen, okay? Yeah, I hate the name Madison, but if it’s _that_ damn important for you to call me it, I don’t really care that much. It’s just not worth the effort, you know?”

            “Yes, I understand,” she said. She didn’t look up.

            “Okay.” Something about the look of her told me that I should say something else, but I had no idea what the fuck _to_ say. A few minutes ago I’d thought that I had this girl figured out, but now I was having a severe case of doubt. Maybe there was something _else_ going on with her that wasn’t as obvious as a social disorder. Maybe… she knew what was going on here? That would be bad news. Bad as hell. Good fucking lord, why did she have pick _me_ as her chaperone?

            Unable to find words, let alone say them, I just turned on my heel and made my way further into the prison, down the next set of corridors. There were no prison cells here, which was a relief, because I didn’t think I was ready for yet another mystery. At the end of the hall was another open area. This one had a door at the far end and a door on either side, just like the last room, but there was no corridor leading further in. It seemed as though this was the full extent of the prison.

            To the left, standing next to the door, was a boy in a full dress suit and a pair of combat boots, a striped green tie hanging from his neck. He had curly brown hair and steel blue eyes that swept across the prison in a focused manner. His curious expression served to further extenuate the line of freckles on his cheekbones. I walked up and introduced myself.

            “Why hello there!” he said, smiling. “My name is Zachary Jones. I’m the Super High School Level Designer.”

            His smile was oddly contagious, so I returned it. “So what’s going on over here? I haven’t seen this area before.”

            “None of us have until today,” he reminded me, but then turned regardless and gestured towards the first door to our left. “This is the entrance to the prison’s male bathroom and showers. The door on the other side of the room is the entrance to the female facilities.” 

            “And what’s a nonbinary kid like me supposed to do?” I asked. Part of me was joking.

            “I guess just go to whichever one you want to,” he said, not missing a beat. “It’s not like anyone’s enforcing any rules. You know, that’s one of the weird things about this prison. I’ve yet to see a single guard! I guess it’s possible that that voice we heard was just one person in a whole group of people, but it sure is weird that he isn’t trying to supervise us yet. How does he expect he’ll keep us from trying to escape?”

            “Good question,” I said. I admittedly hadn’t been thinking too much about things like that—I was far too distracted by all the new faces and weird shit going on. I nodded to the door across from us. “And where does that one lead?”

            “I have no idea about that one, I’m afraid,” he said. “It’s locked, you see.”

            “Huh,” I muttered. “There’s another door in the other area that apparently leads to an Armory, but that one’s locked too. Guess this one isn’t labeled?”

            “No, no label at all,” he said with a slight frown. It quickly went away, however. “Well, with the way things have been going, I’m sure we’ll get to find out at some point.”

            “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said. “Well, I’ll see you later, okay?”

            “Sounds good to me!” he responded brightly.

            For now I decided I’d head into the female restrooms, to be nice to Nikita. I wanted to see what the facilities looked like, especially if I was going to be spending any extent of time here. The entrance was a pair of heavy wooden double doors that swung inward at my touch. Again, as to be expected, I was greeted with stone walls and floors. There was a small curved hallway serving as the entrance, and then an immediate row of stalls to my left. As I turned the corner I saw there was a row of sinks and long mirrors across from this. On the far wall were the entrances to four shower stalls. It wasn’t anything special, but they didn’t look terrible. At least we weren’t living with shitty accommodations—and I wouldn’t have to use that tiny-ass stall in my cell anymore.

            Feeling reassured, I then turned my attention to the other noteworthy thing in the room—a girl standing in front of one of the sinks with a small makeup pad in her left hand, dabbing eyeshadow onto her dark skin with the right. Her eyebrows were sharply sculpted and brown, but her hair was burgundy—probably a dye job, like myself. She had on combat boots over black leggings, a flowing crop top with the word “Music” written across it in thin and scraggly letters, and a black beanie. Definitely one of those overly aesthetic looks. I wasn’t totally sure what to make of her, especially considering the fact that she didn’t bother turning to address me until she’d finished with her makeup.

            “Hey,” she said. “Sorry about that, wanted to get the lines right. My name’s Ari Brown, Super High School Level Creator.”

            “Creator, eh?” I said. “That’s a bit esoteric.”

            “I suppose,” she said, considering. “Really all it means is that I just like making stuff! Which, when you put it that way, I guess sounds kind of lame. I mean, everyone likes making stuff. But I guess I’m just extra good at it?”

            I frowned, furrowing my eyebrows.

            She lowered hers. “Really I’d like to ask HPA’s board of directors about it. Why ‘Creative’? Who the hell picked that? But I still think it’s a pretty cool title, so whatever.”

            “Yeah, alright,” I said. “Well anyway, it’s nice to meet you.”

            “Ariah,” I heard Nikita mumble. I stiffened at her sudden input, and Ari half-peered around the corner to look at her.

            “Oh, hey,” she said. “Didn’t see you there. Yeah, m’full name’s Ariah. You can use that if you want, I guess. It’s pretty cool sounding.”

            Nikita nodded once in her weird little habitual way. “Thank you.”

            “Well, I’m going to head into the cafeteria once I finish up here,” Ari said. “I’ve already met everyone.”

            “I think we’re pretty close ourselves,” I said, then glanced at Nikita.

            She nodded again. “Ariah makes 15 students. You have introduced yourself to everyone here.”

            “Alright,” I said. I was starting to get pretty curious about this cafeteria. “Let’s head over, then.”

            “Alright,” she said.

            Leaving Ari to her makeup, we made our way back to the previous area where the entrance to the cafeteria was. I carefully pushed open the door, half-expecting some eldritch horror to be waiting on the other side. I was almost a little disappointed to discover that the place was empty.

            Like the rest of the prison, it was dimly lit and made of slate gray stone. This room was fairly big, however, breaking the tradition of minimalist spacing that the rest of the prison seemed to adhere to. To my left was a long wall-to-wall counter with an oversized sink, a microwave, a coffee maker, several cabinets, and two refrigerators at the far end. To my right were several rows of cafeteria tables and, at the far end, a slightly raised stage with a podium in the middle. I was surprised to see the Hope’s Peak Academy logo emblazoned on a banner hanging from the podium.

            I glanced at Nikita, frowning. “Hey… you don’t think this prison is owned by HPA, do you?”

            “The banner certainly suggests it,” she said, expressionless.

            “That’s… worrying,” I said, then paused in thought. “Maybe this is some kind of… entrance exam? Like, not only do we have to be super fucking good in our respective fields, but we also have to survive prison life. Maybe all the nonsense that’s taken place today is part of the entrance ceremony. Like we passed the test, or something.”

            “That is an exceedingly hopeful outlook for this situation,” she murmured.

            I sighed. “Yeah. Probably a little too hopeful. A _lot_ too hopeful. Fuck it, let’s just take a seat and wait for the others.”

            We didn’t have to wait for very long. Within a few minutes the other students gradually began filtering in, taking places at the cafeteria tables. Most stuck to themselves, but a few students chose to sit with their peers, talking in muted voices. To my surprise, Zach decided to walk in our direction, taking a seat across from us.

            “Hey,” he said, just as brightly as before. “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself to your friend earlier. Well, not properly, at least.”

            “I am Nikita,” she said. It looked like she was going to leave it there, but then her gaze flicked briefly to me and she added, “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

            “No need to be so formal!” he said with a laugh. “We’re all friends around here. Or, at least, I’d like to think we are. We’re all prisoners, so there’s no reason to act like we’re enemies.”

            “I…” she took a breath, lips half-parted. “…was not attempting to be confrontational.”

            “Oh, no, that’s not what I meant,” he said, seeming somewhat taken aback. “I just mean… you speak really formally. You can act casually around me if you want.”

            “Ah. I see.” She lowered her eyes, considering. “I apologize. This is the way I talk in most circumstances, so more casual speech is not something I am terribly familiar with.”

            I could tell that Zach was just as mystified as I was. “Well, that’s alright. Just do whatever feels natural, is really what I meant.”

            “Very well,” she said. After a moment of vaguely uncomfortable silence, Zach turned his gaze in my direction.

            “So, uh… What do you think of everyone here?”

            I blinked. The question wasn’t fully expected. “Um, I dunno. There’s quite a few people who seem pretty nice. There’s some others that I could do without. And some, uh, confusing people.”

            His gaze flicked to Nikita and then back to me, very quickly. “Are you two friends, or something?”

            “You mean did we know each other before the prison?” I asked. “No, we only met a bit ago. Just like everyone else. Since we met each other first, though, we figured we’d go and talk to the others together.” That wasn’t a perfectly accurate description, but it was the least confusing one. I glanced at Nikita. She was looking away, not saying anything, one hand resting absently on the bottom of her chin.

            “Oh, that’s pretty cool,” Zach said. I think he was aware, by my expression, that I wasn’t too jazzed about Nikita.

            I was thinking up a response when suddenly a light clicked on above the podium. I spun to face it, eyes narrowed—and was then beyond horrified as I watched a short, black and white teddy bear stalk up to the podium. One half of its mouth was stretched in a wide, fanged grin: the adjacent eye was warped into a jagged shape and gleamed bright red.

            It crossed its arms behind its back and cleared its throat. “A-A-Ahem.”

            The few students whose attention hadn’t been caught by the light clicking on immediately turned to face the stage. Everyone was utterly speechless in the face of this strange creature. Nikita, I noticed, had been watching from the beginning.

            “Hello, hello, one and all!” It announced. “My name is Monobear. I’m your prison warden. You guys have been alone in here for about a month now, and I’m sure that’s been really annoying! But it’s okay now, because I’m going to help all of you escape.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” AJ found her voice first. “You’re the one who put that weird announcement in all of our rooms, right? So obviously you’re in control here, right?”

            “Not exactly,” he said, a paw covering his mouth. “But that’s beside the point. Don’t you want to hear the rules for escaping?”

            “Rules?” Malcolm echoed. “Escaping doesn’t have rules.”

            The bear’s grin widened. “If you want to get out of here alive, you have to kill someone. One of your peers. End their life, and I’ll let you go.”

            Kayla’s eyebrow slowly crept up. “Excuse me? That seems a bit extreme.”

            “Yeah,” Isabelle added. “Extremely _stupid._ ”

            “Listen, it’s very simple,” it said. “The moment you kill someone, you’re allowed to leave. Seriously, you can just walk out! No strings attached at all. But like, I don’t have a bunch of time on my hands, y’know? So whoever’s remaining at the end of six days is going to be killed. End of story. No exceptions.”

            “Wh-What?” Ari said, looking amazed.

            “I… I don’t…” Jacob looked around in muted confusion.

            “Look, I’ll even put up a timer,” it said, gesturing. Sure enough, above the stage, at the lip of the roof, a long black LED panel descended. It began counting down from about 142 hours—it seemed that this morning had counted towards our six days. It currently read 141.56.32. At the end digits rapidly descended in milliseconds, counting down with steady tempo. “There, see? When this reaches all zeroes, everyone who’s remaining will die.”

            Zach’s eyes were wide. “H-Hang on. You can’t just _do_ something like that!”

            “Yes I can,” the bear creature growled. “I’m doing it right now! Now could everyone please check their pockets?”

            After a moment of hesitation, we all did as it asked. In my back pocket I found a small, phone-sized black device with the Hope’s Peak Academy logo etched into the back. Fiddling with it pulled up a screen that greeted me with my name and title. “These are your ElectroIDs,” Monobear said after a moment. “They contain the prison rules, as well as some other information that you might find helpful. Hopefully you can find some time to check them out later.”

            No one said anything. We all exchanged glances among ourselves, eyes narrowed in consternation and what might have been the beginning of fear. I had no idea what I was supposed to say to any of this. How I was supposed to react. It made my stomach twist in a dazed form of confusion.

            “Calm down, seriously,” Monobear muttered. “I just explained everything to you bastards, didn’t I? It’s all straightforward from there. Oh, by the way, all of your memories have been tampered with. So you’re probably going to have some confusing experiences in the next six days! But don’t worry about it, okay? Just remember to kill someone, and everything will be fine.”

            It looked like it was then going to turn on its heel and leave, but Aaron called out. “Hang on, wait a minute. You can’t just say some ridiculous bullshit like that and then leave. What the fuck are you, anyway?”

            “A robot,” it said, tone devastatingly bored. “Sort of.”

            “But, wait,” Bree said. “I don’t understand what you’re doing here. Are you in control of this prison or aren’t you?”

            It waved her away. “This is all way too complicated to get into. Just get to the killing, okay? You’ll understand all of this later, I’m sure.”

            “That’s not an explanation!” Laura cried in exasperation.

            Zach glanced at me, then back to Monobear. “It would help if we knew what was going on…”

            “You need to stop fucking with us,” Jack added.

            The bear threw up its arms, looking seriously ready to go off on us—a trait that felt to me, for whatever reason, to be completely out of character. “Listen. This is not the kind of attitude that will help you solve problems. If you want answers, start killing each other! I’m telling you, that’s your number one best way to progress in here.” 

            Natasha wasn’t going to give up that easily. “If you aren’t in control of this facility, then who is? Why can we not speak to them? When will we be told why we were put in here?”

            Ash nodded, pulling at their fingers. “Could you please explain _something_?”

            The bear placed its paws over its mouth in a sign of exasperation—and then forced an unexpected laugh. “Upupu. Upupupu. I can’t believe you bastards think it’s that easy to get an answer out of me! You’re going to have to try a lot harder than that, okay? And here’s a hint: I’m always in a good mood when dead bodies start showing up!”

            It turned again, making to leave—but then the cafeteria door creaked open behind us. I spun around in surprise. Wasn’t everyone already here?

            A tall, lithe girl was standing in the poor lighting dripping in from outside of the cafeteria, her sea green eyes narrowed in a fidgety look of hesitation. Her reddish-brown hair was windswept and somewhat unkempt. She was wearing a black cap with gold decoration and a faded yellow hoodie. Beneath this a black shirt was just barely visible, the words “Caution: Don’t Chase” half legible on its surface. She was wearing jeans and red converse, one leg tucked behind the other as she lurked in the doorway.

            “H… Huh?” Monobear said with a tone of genuine surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”

            “I’m, uh…” she looked around nervously. “Am I late? I’m the sixteenth prisoner, I think?”

            The bear took a step back, its teeth bared in what looked almost like rage. “Y-You…”

            Some color rushed to her cheeks. “Sorry about being late. I’m, uh… S-Super High School Level Good Luck?” She’d posed most everything so far as a question, as though expecting it to hold weight.

            “What’s your name?” I asked, trying to figure out why this so-called prison warden was having such a strong reaction to her.

            She smiled at me weakly, eyebrows narrowed. “I’m Caehl Ponytore.” The bear immediately let out a hiss, followed by an abrupt, panicked half-laugh—and then spun on its heel and left quicker than it’d come.

            “Sorry?” Caehl said, looking more dismayed than I thought humanly possible. “I didn’t know it was a bad thing to be me.”

            And so began the following six days of hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's [a map of the prison](http://i.imgur.com/Ion6VLc.png) on the off-chance that it's a little too confusing.
> 
> Welcome back everyone! It's been an exhausting eight months, but I'm back on my feet and things are looking good. Here's hoping for another successful and fun story.
> 
> The titles of the Chapters, this time around, will be references to various pieces of media. This one is "Strength Through Chaos," which I'll explain in the notes of the next chapter. Perhaps people can have fun guessing what they're from and why I chose to reference them.


	2. 1.1 "Social Garden"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "if they are taken from nature  
> there will be nothing to behold  
> nor an eye  
> a poet will have to sing  
> of the ineffable as true  
> to begin with  
> a palace of pearls" 
> 
> \--Jane Miller, A Palace of Pearls

CHAPTER ONE: A Palace of Pearls

(Ab)normal Days Part 1

            As we approached the door, I got the impression that it was even more out-of-use than my cell; aged and tired and flush with the wall as though it were a part of it. When Caehl reached for the handle, I fully expected it to not open: but with a bit of encouragement, it did, and we peered into the dim interior of her new room. It looked, predictably, just like my cell. I made a face as I stared through the doorway.

            After Monobear had left, the sixteen of us had agreed that we should give Caehl the spare room in the prison—the one that wasn’t marked by any picture frames or already being slept in by a different prisoner. It wasn’t lost on me exactly how odd it was that one convenient spare room was already here for this one unexpected student. I didn’t know what to make of it.

            Somehow I’d gotten stuck with the job of taking her to her room. I had no idea why it’d worked out that way, but it was admittedly a lot better than staying in the cafeteria with a lot of _very_ on-edge students. After staring into the cell for a moment, the girl in question turned to look at me.

            “Right,” she said. “So, uh… this is my cell?”

            “I guess,” I said. “You’re the one who walked into the cafeteria saying you’re one of the prisoners.”

            She rubbed at the back of her neck. “Yeah, I know. I think I probably confused a lot of people by walking in like that? It probably sounds like I know something you guys don’t. Saying I’m a prisoner but not already being here with everyone else, I mean. But I don’t know anything more than any of you guys, I swear.”

            “So how did you get here?” I asked.

            “I…” she faintly ran a hand over her temple, as though trying to pull the memories to the surface. “I was captured, I remember that. I remember being given the information that I was going to be imprisoned somewhere, but I can’t remember who told me. Maybe I read it, like on a note or something? I don’t know. All I know is that I was told that ahead of time. Then I woke up outside of this area, past the door where the bathrooms are.”

            “Wait, hang on,” I said. “So you were kidnapped and then woke up here? All this happened today?”

            “I think so,” she said.

            I frowned. “Weird. We’ve been here for the past month.”

            “All of you?”

            “Well… maybe,” I shrugged. “I admittedly haven’t asked. I know that Aaron and I have been here for a month.”

            “Strange,” she said.

            I nodded. “So anyway, this door you were behind. Do you mean the locked one?”

            “I guess so,” she said. “It locked after I went through it.”

            “What’s on the other side?”

            “A hallway with a few other doors. There’s a ladder going up on the far side.”

            “Did you use it?”

            Her eyebrows knitted together. “No. I just went through the door that took me here.”

            “How did you know what door to use?”

            “I didn’t,” she admitted a little sheepishly. “It was just a lucky guess.”

            My expression lowered. “Lucky, huh? Isn’t that your title or whatever?”

            “Super High School Level Good Luck.” She said with a nod. After a brief pause, however, she began to look a little concerned. “Aren’t there people who think it’s kind of a cheating title? Like not real, or something? I hope you’re not one of those people. I’m not always very lucky, but I try my best when I can. Though… I guess that statement doesn’t make much sense does it? How does someone ‘try’ to be lucky? It’s just something that happens, I suppose. I mean, if I’m gonna be honest, it’s really nothing more than just hard to describe. I’m not entirely sure what ‘Good Luck’ is supposed to mean myself. But, uh, I don’t think that makes me less of a student or anything. Right? Cause I still try to learn and do my best. So even if my title isn’t all that fancy or anything, I still count as a student.” She seemed satisfied with this conclusion, but it was only a moment before her confusion returned. “Wait, though, you weren’t trying to imply that I wasn’t a real student. Were you? I don’t think you actually were. It was kind of silly of me to tell you all of that, then, wasn’t it? I’m probably just making you really confused here. In retrospect, none of what I just said made all that much sense. That wasn’t how I meant to word it, anyway. Please say something.”

            I stared.

            “Wow. Okay.” She rubbed at her face for a moment, then offered her free hand. “Let’s try this again. My name’s Caehl Ponytore, Super High School Level Good Luck.”

            After a moment of consideration, I took the hand. “Mads McBride, Super High School Level Performer.”

            “Nice to meet you,” she said, with a bit of a relieved huff. “I am sure that our acquaintanceship will be completely normal and not involve me rambling in any way whatsoever.”

            I offered her a light grin. “To be honest with you, I’m more worried about the ‘completely normal’ part than I am about the rambling.”

            She looked dismayed. “Oh no. Am I really that weird already?”

            “No, I—” I shook my head, making a face. “I mean this _place_ is weird, and what we’re supposed to do while we’re here is weird. Not you.”

            “Oh.” she stared for a moment. “What are we supposed to do here?”

            “Shit,” I said. “I forgot, you weren’t here for Monobear’s whole speech. The thing said we’re supposed to… well, kill each other.”

            “That doesn’t sound very practical,” she said, with genuine concern.

            I stifled a laugh. “No shit it doesn’t. The thing said that if we kill someone, we get to leave. But if we don’t do it in under six days, then whoever’s remaining will be killed.”

            Her eyes went wide. “That’s horrible. What are you doing showing me to my cell? We need to find a way out of here!”

            “Yeah, I know,” I said, a little moodily. “But there really isn’t one. I’ve been around this whole place and there’s nothing. In fact, that ladder you mentioned might have been the exit. But the door locked behind you, so it doesn’t really matter now.”

            “We could try to… break out,” she offered.

            I snickered lightly. “What, a jailbreak? That sounds pretty dramatic. We don’t really have the tools for it or anything, though.”

            Caehl lowered her gaze. “True.”

            I shook my head. “Huh, a jailbreak. That’d be like some shitty black-and-white TV show from the 60’s where everyone is digging their way out with plastic spoons.” I swallowed. “I never thought I’d be seriously considering something like that. This shit feels like a dream.”

            “Shame we can’t wake up,” she murmured absently.

            I was going to respond, but then the nonexistent speakers clicked on again and Monobear’s voice rang out. “Hey, you bastards. Hope you’re having a fun time! Everyone should go to the Armory, because I’ve unlocked it for you. I mean, I told you guys to murder each other, so it’s only fair that I give you the tools to do it. Enjoy.”

            Its voice disappeared along with the static. It seemed to have calmed down since its outburst when Caehl arrived, and I had half a mind to ask her about it. I turned to see that she was looking at me with an odd mixture of apprehension and curiosity. “Hey, maybe there’s something in the armory we could use to try and break out.”

            “Maybe,” I said, figuring I could ask her about Monobear later. “I guess we’ll just have to go and see.”

            We made our way past the cells and towards the Armory. It was a short walk, but we were still among the last students to arrive. Once everyone was there, Aaron and Laura did the honors of pushing the heavy double doors open. My eyes took their time adjusting, but when they did I was surprised to see that the room was covered wall-to-wall in racks of weapons. There were medieval looking numbers like maces or axes; more modern hunting knives and composite bows; and a particularly concerning row of various different guns along the far wall. What caught most everyone’s attention, however, was the large wooden island in the middle of the room. It had several particularly unique-looking weapons neatly organized across its surface.

            After exchanging some wary glances, we all tentatively stepped inside to take a look around. Most made their way to the island. I followed at a distance, watching to see what the others might pick. As I got closer I was surprised to see that there were small white slips pinned to the table in front of each weapon, with a name written on it. Had Monobear designated specific weapons to each of us?

            Now sufficiently curious, I made my way to the table, scanning for my name. I found it quickly enough—my nametag had been placed in front of a large, sheathed knife. I picked it up, surprised to find that the sheath and hilt were made of strong, supple wood that had been carved into the shape of a fish. The base of the hilt was the fish’s tail; the top was its mouth, wide open, and the sheath emerged from it in the shape of a fountain of water. It was clear that it had been hand-carved, and whoever had made it had put a lot of work into it. I popped the sheath off to reveal a large, serrated silver blade emerging from the fish’s jaws—clearly a hunting knife. I flicked it down to my right, watching the blade glint in the low lighting. When I rolled it over in my hands, I was startled to see an inscription on the opposite side of the hilt, probably put there by the carver. It read:

            _BUCK WILLIAMS. FOR MADS—_

I stared at the words in confusion. Had this knife been made for me? By someone named Buck? I wasn’t sure what to think. The bear had said that some of our memories had been fucked with, but had it really gone so far as to make me forget a _person?_ And why give me this weapon if they wanted me to forget? None of it added up.

            “Woah,” a voice said behind me. I turned to see Ash studying me with their eyebrows raised. “Nice knife! That looks like it was handmade.”

            “I think it was,” I said, twisting the hilt around in my hands so they wouldn’t be able to see the inscription. I didn’t want to talk about this with anyone until I could figure out some more on my own.

            “I think mine was too,” they said. “Hand- _smelted_ , that is.” With one hand they held up a metal bat that had four long spikes extending out in a ring near the top. The spikes had to be at least six inches long—if Ash hit anyone with that, they would do some serious damage.

            “Christ,” I said. “Better be careful with that thing.”

            At this they looked somewhat surly. “If you say so. According to Monobear, I should be swinging this thing around without a care in the world. But that’s… well, that’s bullshit, you know? I’m not going to just _kill_ someone.”

            I nodded. I could see exactly what they meant. “Yeah, I don’t have it in me either. Which I guess means that all of us are gonna die in six days.”

            “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…” they frowned, glancing to the side. “I hope you’re right. I’d rather all of us die than one of us turn into a murderer.”

            I was trying to think of a response to that heavy load of depressing shit that they’d just dropped when Malcolm walked up, carrying what looked like a sharpened pair of metal drumsticks. I raised an eyebrow. “ _That’s_ your weapon?”

            He looked down at them, then back at me, expression dubious. “I _do_ like playing the drums.”

            I glanced around, now wondering what the other students might possibly have. AJ was lightly swinging around a rapier, Bree had (of all things) a sculpted metal halberd resting against her shoulder, Laura was hefting a long coil of chains, Natasha was fiddling with a sniper rifle, and Ari was holding a particularly dangerous-looking Taser gun. Near the back of the room I spotted Jacob, who was in the process of slowly unfurling a ridiculously complex pocketknife. I stared at all of them, a vague sense of dread growing more and more acute in my stomach.

            “Hey,” someone said from off to my right. I turned to see Aaron standing at my side, a machete strapped over his back. “Nice knife.”

            “Thanks,” I said. “Nice machete.”

            “It’s a little plain,” he muttered, shrugging. “You’ve got the fancy kit, with yours all carved and everything.”

            “Jealous?” I suggested with a smile.

             “I don’t know,” he said. “ _Possibly._ I mean, if you end up killing someone, you’re going to be doing it in style. Like, ‘Damn, Mads is about to peg me with this knife. But it’s such a _cool_ knife! I can’t stay mad at them.’”

            I laughed lightly. “Looks like I have the upper hand, then.”

            He grinned. “Guess so. Though, uh, you probably shouldn’t kill anyone.”

            “I wasn’t planning on it,” I muttered. “I don’t know how the _hell_ we’re going to solve any of this, but I can’t just kill someone. There’s gotta be a different way.”

            He nodded absently. Behind him I noticed Nikita, standing a considerable distance away from Jack and watching him as he swung around a small metal guitar. The instrument had a large, curved blade affixed to the curvature of its body, and a smaller blade running along the headstock. I figured, if he got enough momentum going, then either of those blades would be enough to take someone down.

            I walked over in Nikita’s general direction, keeping my eyes on Jack as he continued to swing the guitar around. She turned briefly to study me on my approach. “Hello,” she said. “That is an impressive knife.”

            “It’s in the shape of a fish,” I said, holding it up. She wasn’t looking at me anymore, her attention once again fixated on Jack. I lowered it.

            In her right hand was another carved weapon, like mine. Hers was a long, slender wooden staff that was even taller than her. It ended in a curving arch like a Shepard’s crook, but with a wicked sharp point turned inwards, towards the center of the crook. “Yours is carved too,” I said after a moment.

            She nodded once. “I made it myself.”

            “You did?” I said, surprised. “No one else seems to remember where they got their weapons from.”

            At this she turned to look at me again. “I have had this for a long time. I made it many years ago, long before I was accepted to Hope’s Peak Academy. It was taken from me when I was kidnapped and brought here.”

            “Oh,” I said. “So maybe that’s what happened with everyone’s weapons? We had them for some reason, then they were taken from us, and have been kept here for the past month.”

            This comment seemed to give her reason to pause, her eyebrows narrowing almost imperceptibly. “I have been here since yesterday,” she said after a moment. “Not a month.”

            “Really?”

            Nikita nodded in response.

            I made a face, considering. That sounded pretty similar to what Caehl had said about how she arrived late. Had certain people only been here for a day, while others for a month? I wondered why. Maybe it had just taken longer to capture them?

            We were quiet for a moment, watching Jack. After a while I decided to call out to him. “Hey! You’re not actually planning on nailing someone with that thing, are you?”

            He paused, turning to find the source of my voice, and then said, “No way! It’s just really fucking cool! Seriously, come look at this thing.”

            I walked over. He wasn’t wrong about it being cool—it appeared to still function as a guitar, despite being weaponized. He definitely looked pretty damn pleased with himself. “Yeah, it’s a really nice weapon,” I said.

            “Imagine doing a guitar solo on this,” he responded immediately. “Just totally shredding with this thing. I would be the coolest person alive.”

            “That would be pretty sweet,” I admitted. The conversation was interrupted by someone tapping me on the back.

            I turned to see Kayla standing behind me, Isabelle a few steps off.  The librarian was grinning wildly. “Watch this,” she said. She then stepped to Isabelle’s side, the two of them pressing their backs together and cocking their back legs in an action pose. They then each simultaneously lifted a handgun, pointing it into empty space.

            “We’re like Charlie’s Angels,” Isabelle announced.

            “There’s only two of us, though,” Kayla said. “We’re more like that band of edgy vampire rockers in _Scooby Doo._ ”

            “There’s three of them as well.”

            “There is?” She considered it. “Oh yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay, we’re like those twins in that one anime. Soul Eater, I think.”

            Isabelle made a face. “Aren’t the two of them actually a weapon that’s just been turned into humans?”

            “I don’t know,” Kayla said. “I’ve never actually watched Soul Eater.”

            She frowned. “This is ridiculous. Obviously both of us know that we are clearly Jojo and Dio from Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure.”

            “Obviously,” she responded. “I was merely prolonging this inevitable conclusion for the sake of suspense. No one with a brain would ever doubt that we are, indeed, two estranged brothers locked in a life-changing war over the existence of a dangerous mask.”

            Isabelle nodded sagely. “Our hatred for one another burns brighter than the sun.”

            “Clearly.”

            “Yes, clearly.”

            I stared at their handguns. They were dark black, with a strip of blue running along the sides of the barrels. A similarly colored symbol was visible above the grip. Upon seeing that I was staring, Isabelle got out of position and held hers out for me, pointedly making sure that the muzzle was facing her own person. “Wanna see?”

            I carefully accepted it, taking a closer look at the symbol. It was an engraved image of a tombstone, a caricature of a wave and Isabelle’s initials drawn on the surface. The imagery was a little blunt, but certainly got across the idea of “Seagrave.” I handed it back to her. “Cool. Did you guys make those yourself or something?”

            Isabelle shrugged. “Not that I know of. Maybe this Monobear guy has a sense of humor?”

            “He did say our memories were missing,” Kayla said. Her eyes were narrowed and she was glancing to the side, as though guarded.

            “Hey guys,” someone said from off to my right. I turned to see Zach standing a few feet off, a simple-looking black umbrella in his right hand.

            “Is that your weapon?” I said, frowning.

            He made a face, looking down at it. “I guess so. It was under my nametag, at least.”

            “What does it do?”

            “I have no idea,” he said, lifting it up. He took a moment to study the handle (a simple, curved wooden one), and then held it out, arm straight. I watched as he tucked his free hand under the canopy, looking for a latch. As he found it he carefully unfurled the canopy: it was black, with red Japanese kanji in a ring around the middle. Suddenly, however, it popped to full extension with a loud _shink_ noise—and then a small, pointed blade of metal rocketed towards me from the umbrella’s center.

            Zach cried out. I ducked quickly, hearing the thing embed itself in the wall behind me with a thud. After a moment I looked up to see him sitting on his butt, the umbrella on the ground in front of him—clearly the recoil had knocked him down. Everyone in the room had gone silent. I glanced to the side to see Kayla pointing her gun at Zach, eyes narrowed.

            “I-It was an accident,” he said to her. “Honestly! I didn’t know what it could do.”

            She considered him for a second longer, and then her expression cleared as she lowered the gun. “Okay,” she said shortly.

            Everyone was deadly quiet. In a single moment we had been reminded of what we were dealing with here—weapons. We were supposed to kill one another with these. Had I been a single second slower, that piece of metal would have been in my skull.

            I got to my feet slowly, more than a little shaken. The silence was broken by Caehl running up to me, eyebrows raised. “Are you okay?” she asked. She had a small scythe blade on a chain clipped around her jeans, and a simple handgun tucked into her pocket.

            “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, glancing at Zach. He was looking with wide eyes at his umbrella, as though it were a living thing. “It was just an accident.”

            “Yeah,” Caehl said, hiding a frown.

            “Nice weapons,” I said. A change of subject would be good.

            She glanced down. “Uh, thanks. This scythe is pretty cool.” After a moment she looked around and then lowered her voice, adding, “I actually had way more weapons on the table than this? There were a bunch of throwing knives, and two other guns, and double sickles… it was a little crazy! I couldn’t take all of that. So I just took these and hung the others up on the racks around the room.”

            I stared. Her eyebrows were knitted together in a mixture of worry and confusion. “Seriously?” I said. “Why did you have all that shit?”

            “I have no idea,” she said. “I guess Monobear really wanted me to have some weapons, or something.”

            I thought of the inscription on my hunting knife and couldn’t control the thought that maybe all of us had already owned these weapons before coming here. Nikita had said that hers was confiscated prior to arrival, after all. And Monobear had told us that our memories had been messed with… Was it really possible that all of us had been weaponized before now? Was that why we were in prison? Were we all some fucked up troop of serial murderers? I couldn’t imagine myself forgetting something that important.

            But then I thought of Jack’s customized guitar, or Zach’s murder umbrella, or the Seagraves’ decaled guns, and suddenly I wasn’t so sure. Those didn’t seem like normal weapons that normal people would have—and although I could argue with myself that this wasn’t a normal situation, something about it still didn’t add up. Why would people like us be given weapons like that? We were just some kids that wanted to go to Hope’s Peak Academy. That was all.

            Right?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            After everyone had picked up their weapons, we all once again dispersed, the tension from before quickly returning. I was a little dismayed to see how quick we all were to be suspicious of one another. Of course I could understand it—this wasn’t exactly a good situation for being buddy-buddy—but that didn’t stop it from making me feel a little bitter. Unable to rest and loathe to hide out somewhere, I wandered around the prison, poking my head in through various doors to see what the others were doing. Eventually my wanderings led me to the cafeteria, where I found Zach, fiddling with the coffee maker on the counter.

            “Oh, hello Mads,” he said when he saw me. “Would you like to hang out for a little while? I could make us some tea.”

            I could tell that he was eager for some company (or at the very least eager to make up for almost killing me earlier), so I nodded. “Sure, why not.”

            “Alright,” he said, then smiled. “Go on, take a seat. I’ll take care of everything here. Is Earl Gray okay with you?”

            “Sounds fine,” I said, walking over to the nearest table and slipping onto the bench. I watched him from this vantage point as he procured a few tea bags from a nearby drawer and then took the pot to the sink, filling it with water. My gaze drifted to the side: near the other end of the table I saw his umbrella, closed, with the top pointing towards the relative safety of the wall. After a moment I reached over and pulled it towards me, curious as to how the thing worked.

            In the meantime, the tea had started brewing. Zach turned around to see me peering underneath the umbrella’s closed canopy. He yelped. “Ah—please don’t touch that!”

            I turned to look at him. He said, “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Again.”

            “I didn’t get hurt the first time,” I said with a light laugh, but put it down anyway.

            “I know, I just…” he looked back at the tea, slowly pooling in the coffee pot, a light amber color. “It just really freaked me out, is all.”

            “You said it was an accident,” I responded. “I believe you. If it _wasn’t_ an accident, now would be the time to tell me.”

            “No, it was,” he said. Enough tea had stewed for him to start pouring. He unclipped the coffee pot and filled the first mug. I peered over his shoulder to see that he had a small dish of sugar cubes and a little pitcher of milk next to him. Pretty organized.

            “Do you want sugar?” he asked, as though on cue.

            “Sure,” I said. “Three cubes’ll do.”

            I watched as, with a practice hand, he dipped the dish to drop three sugar cubes into one mug and four into the other. “Milk?”

            “Nah.”

            As he poured some milk into his, I considered the fact that he’d put the tea in first. Wasn’t that the American way of doing it? I thought I’d heard somewhere that the British method involved putting the milk and sugar in first and adding the tea afterwards, as if this somehow changed the final product. I didn’t really know enough about tea making to reach any sort of conclusion about what this might mean in relation to Zach.

             He brought the mugs over, placing mine down in front of me and then taking a seat. I watched as he wrapped both hands around his mug, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. Then he lifted the mug up and announced, “Life is never as sweet as we want it to be. That’s why we use sugar to sweeten it up!” He concluded this little ritual by taking his first sip from the mug, nodding in satisfaction. “Good. How’s yours?”

            I took a drink. “Good. Thanks.”

            “No problem,” he said, with a smile. “I think tea is a really great thing. It can make people happy.”

            “Yeah?” I said. “How so?”

            He put his cup down, eyebrows lowering. “Well, I guess I just think tea brings people together. There’s a sort of ritual to it, you know?  It’s kind of hard to describe what I mean.”

            “No, I think I get it,” I said. At the very least I could see how the idea of this ritual was helping _him_. He seemed to have calmed down quite a bit since I’d first entered the cafeteria.

            He took another sip, quiet for a moment, and then murmured, “Hey… You don’t think anyone is actually going to attempt murder, do you?”

            “I hope not,” I said. “But I don’t really know any of you. I mean… you’re all strangers to me. I can’t really say for sure what any of you are capable of.”

            He nodded, glancing away. “Good point.”

            While we were talking, Caehl had entered the cafeteria to poke around in the fridge. It wasn’t long before she’d grabbed an orange and was on her way out. I’d wanted to talk to her about some things earlier, so now seemed like as good of a time as any to pick up our conversation. “Hey, Zach, I’ll see you around. Thanks again for the tea.”

            “Oh—well thanks for the visit!” he responded as I took off.

            I exited the cafeteria to see Caehl turning the corner, walking towards the cells. “Hey!” I called out, jogging to catch up with her. She paused at the sound of my voice, turning to watch my approach, thumb absently pulling at the edge of the orange as she began to peel it. “Hey,” I repeated once we were at a more comfortable distance. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

            “Yes?” she said.

            “When you arrived, Monobear sorta… freaked out over you. Do you know why that was?”

            She stared at me, eyes wide and blank. “No, I have no idea.”

            “Oh.” Well, so much for that conversation. I fished around in my head for something else to talk about. I was beginning to think that it would be best to end this interaction before it went anywhere awkward, but then Caehl beat me to the punch.

            “So, uh…” she looked like she was picking her words carefully. “Are you in prison for… any particular reason?”

            I blinked. “What? No. Actually, none of us are criminals, as far as we know. We’re just Super High School Levels who got kidnapped.”

            Her eyebrows wrinkled together. “What do you mean, ‘as far as we know’?”

            “Monobear told us that our memories have been messed with,” I muttered. “It’s up to you whether you actually believe him or not.”

            She considered this for a moment. “Do you?”

            I frowned, a little taken aback. “Uh… I’m not sure. To be honest with you, I _have_ seen some evidence that he might be right. But I don’t know what to make of any of it yet. It might just be coincidences, or weird little things about the prison that point to something else. Nothing’s really clear yet.”

            “Maybe it would help if we worked out some of the memories we _do_ have,” she suggested, leaning back against the wall and popping a slice of orange into her mouth.

            “Not a bad idea,” I said. “So what do you remember from before you were kidnapped?”

            She smiled lightly, averting her gaze. “Mostly my sister, Gam.”

            “You have a sister?”

            “Not exactly,” she said. “We’re not sisters by blood or anything, but we might as well be. We’ve basically been inseparable for forever. We would confide in each other, and support each other, and just… have fun with each other, I guess. We were very close.”

            “So what happened?” I asked.

            She frowned. “Um… Well, this is where the memories start to get hazy. I got accepted to Hope’s Peak, and then… I was travelling there… and now I’m here. I don’t remember any of Gam from that point in time. In fact, I don’t remember much of _anything_ from that point in time. I can’t tell you what happened to her.”

            “I hope she’s okay.”

            Caehl nodded, expression nervous, studying an orange slice between two fingers. “I sort of… relied on her, I guess. I mean, she relied on me, but I think I needed her a little bit more than the other way around. It feels weird not having her with me. Like something’s missing, more than just the memories.”

            I watched her for a moment, seeing the concern in her eyes. “I’m sure she’s alright. It’s not like anything horrible has been happening outside of this prison, right?”

            “I certainly hope not,” she said, then shook herself lightly. “Want some orange?”

            “I’m good, thanks,” I said.

            “Alright then.” She smiled at me. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

            “Okay.”

            I watched her go in silence. She certainly seemed to be one of the bigger mysteries at this prison, what with her weird arrival and all. But she was kind and considerate, if a bit nervous, and I felt no real reason to be suspicious of her. Much like Zach with his umbrella, it seemed as though she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

            Speaking of Zach: it was a little hard to tell whether he was being nice because he wanted to, or because he felt he had to redeem himself to me. Either way, he was doing pretty well. Despite what seemed like nervous tendencies, he was sweet and seemingly in control. The dichotomy there wasn’t lost on me. I definitely wanted to know more about both him and Caehl.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            Later on that day, I headed back to the cafeteria for lunch. I was surprised to discover that there was already a cluster of students here, eating and talking in short, hushed tones. Of course our cells all had a digital clock in them, so it made sense that some of us came out for lunch around the same time. I poked around in the fridge for a bit until I settled on the idea of making a sandwich and got to work.

            As I was gathering ingredients I occasionally glanced back to get a lay of the room. Natasha, AJ, and Jacob were sitting together at one table, exchanging a few brief comments every now and then. Malcolm, Jack, Bree, and Ari sat together at another table, focused on their food. I finished making the sandwich and took a seat on my own, listening in to see if I could pick up on anything interesting.

            “It concerns me that the bear gave us weapons,” I heard Natasha say. “Could we not use them to kill _him_?”

            I saw AJ nod slowly as she spoke. “It’s not a bad idea. With some of the shit we got from that armory, we’d be able to really fuck him up.”

            “I don’t know,” Jacob said. “We don’t know what all he’s capable of. It might not be safe to run at him blind.”

            “Well yeah, obviously,” she muttered. “We need to learn more about the stupid thing before we’re ever gonna be able to kill it.”

            Natasha frowned. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant. The bear fully believes that we are capable of killing, so why would he do something as dangerous as giving us weapons when he is the most likely target? It doesn’t add up. It suggests that he is protected from us in some way.”

            “I hadn’t thought of that,” Jacob admitted, expression darkening. “It’s really worrying.”

            I considered what they were saying as I ate. I hadn’t yet thought of the possibility of attacking Monobear, but now that someone mentioned it, it seemed like the most obvious course of action. Natasha was right, though: it was a little _too_ obvious. Yet the bear itself had told us that it wasn’t in control of this facility, so how could he be protected from us? Something was definitely off about the situation.

            I glanced to the side to see that Jack had finished eating. From the bench on the table behind him, he retrieved his guitar, titling it slightly so that the flat of its blade was against his knee rather than the sharpened edge. He tweaked the knobs for a moment, making sure it was tuned, and then began to play a low bassline. It was an electric guitar, so it wasn’t very loud, but the sound carried pretty well nonetheless. I saw Bree lightly bobbing her head along to the tune.

            After a moment, Malcolm pulled out his drumsticks and began tapping a beat against the cafeteria table, in rhythm with Jack’s playing. He didn’t do anything too fancy, but he kept the pace with unmistakable ease. They were both quite good, in fact, which made me wonder how Malcolm’s skills as a vocalist would compare to his drumming. I couldn’t help but grin as I listened, chin resting in the palm of my hand. It may be Murder City here in Hell Central, but that didn’t mean two students couldn’t find the time to play some music.

            Speaking of, my eyes wandered up to the timer above the stage. 132.33.15 and counting. I stared at the dark red numbers, the low bass sounds of the guitar reverberating in my ears.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

             Later that afternoon, I stumbled upon Aaron in the library. He was working his way down one shelf of books, opening them to random pages and then closing and putting them back again. I watched him from a distance for a little while, noting that he gradually grew more agitated with each book. Finally I decided it was time to step in.

            “They’re all blank, you know,” I told him, walking up.

            “Yeah, I’m kind of catching on to that,” he growled. “What I want to understand is _why._ There’s gotta be a reason for this kind of bullshit.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “So your solution was to go through each book individually?”

            He flung the current book back onto the shelf, sighing in exasperation. “I don’t know. I’m out of ideas.”

            “You seem frustrated.”

            He glowered at me. “Obviously. What was your first hint? The stupid fucking books, or the fact that we’ve been trapped in a prison and told to kill each other? Take your pick, because here’s a little tip: you’re gonna be right either way!”

            “Dude, chill,” I muttered. “I’m trying to help out here.”

            He closed his eyes and let out a long breath through his nose, teeth grit. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just… it was one thing when I was trapped in my cell. I wasn’t totally alone, because I could talk to you, you know? So I could handle it. But everything that’s happening now, is… it’s too much at once.”

            I offered him a small grin. “Hey, don’t get me started. 30 days of nothing and then everything breaks into chaos. I’m just as pissed about it as you are.”

            “Yeah, and this fucking bear?” he said, seeming to have cooled down. “Like, who the hell came up with something like that? I mean I _guess_ I could understand if it was, say, a grizzly. That would be pretty intimidating. But a _teddy_ bear? C’mon, what were you thinking?”

            I snickered. “You’re pretty funny, you know that?”

            He shrugged, stifling a grin. “I try.”

            “How come you don’t pull jokes like that more often?” I asked. “You’ve always got this sort of… serious, no-nonsense thing going on.”

            “I do?” He looked puzzled. “I try not to. I just don’t want to make a joke unless I think it’s actually _good._ Nobody likes a person who’s constantly throwing out one-liners in hopes of getting someone to laugh.”

            “True enough, I suppose,” I said.

            He rubbed at the back of his neck absently. “I am kind of a pretty big comedy buff. It’s part of the reason I got the Actor title, I think. And I know someone who’s entering Hope’s Peak as an actor shouldn’t be biased like this, but I sort of prefer comedy over most other mediums.”

            “Why’s that?” I asked.

            “Because it’s one of the few mediums where people can just be brutally honest,” he said. “I mean, think about it. Most of the great or famous comedians have some message they want to get across. And a lot of the time, the message is something that other people don’t want to hear. But because comedy is about being funny, they can be brutal and direct with their opinions, sometimes even without consequence.”

            I considered. “Good point. So is that what you planned on doing after Hope’s Peak? Comedy?”

            “Absolutely,” he said, but then made a face. “And I _still_ plan on doing it, provided I can get out of here. It’s just a matter of doing it without killing anyone.”

            “Here’s hoping,” I muttered.

            I was surprised by how open Aaron was being. Of course we’d talked about a variety of different subjects during the past 30 days, but when it came to more personal subjects he tended to be more tight-lipped. It seemed as though this mutual killing scenario really _had_ pushed him out of his element. I was curious to know if he’d be open to telling me more about himself.

            After my conversation with Aaron, I made my way out of the library and towards the cells, thinking I could do with some time on my own. On the way, however, I ran into Nikita outside of the cafeteria. “Hello,” she said softly when she saw me. “Would you mind if we sat down for a bit? I wanted to talk with you.”

            “Uh…” I shrugged. “Sure, I don’t see why not.”

            She led the way into the cafeteria, picking one of the first tables in the row. I sat down across from her, watching as she laid her staff out across the table, crossing her arms over it as she studied me. “Could I see?” I asked, nodding at the staff.

            “Yes.” Nikita lifted her arms and nudged the weapon across the table.

            I twisted it in my grip, moving my hands up towards the top where the crook was. The wood was smooth and lacquered in some way, making it hard and durable. I gently tapped a finger on the tip at the end of the crook, confirming that it was, indeed, very sharp. “Seems sort of unwieldy,” I said. “I mean, just speaking practically here, how would you kill someone with this?”

            In response she held her hand out. I gave the staff back, watching as she slipped her free arm into the crook, holding it horizontally for me to see. “It is not difficult to get someone trapped in the crook like this,” she said. “One could hook their limb, or even the neck. It forces them to stay still, as with one move—” She slid the staff forwards, the sharp point of the crook just grazing her arm. Had someone’s neck been in its place, the point would have slit their throat.

            “Ow,” I said appreciatively.

            “It is one of the things I like about this weapon,” she said. “That it is more powerful than its looks suggest.”

            “I hope you don’t plan on using it,” I said, deliberately keeping my tone joking.

            Her dark, serious expression didn’t waver. “I do not.”

            “Right.” We fell silent. I didn’t know what to say to her, especially since she had started this conversation, rather than the other way around. I fidgeted in the quiet for a moment, entirely unsure of what to do.

            “May I see your weapon?” she said abruptly.

            I hesitated, hand instinctively going to where it was buckled at my side. “Um… I’m not so sure.”

            She frowned at me for a moment. “I am not going to take it from you. I simply wish to have a look at it, just as you did with mine.”

            “Yeah, I just…” I hesitated. “I’m just not sure I want to do that.”

            “That is a little impolite,” she said. Her stare bore holes in my skull.

            “Alright, fine,” I said, trying not to look annoyed. There wasn’t any real reason to keep this a secret, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t frustrated by her pushing. I kept speaking as I unbuckled it. “It’s just… there’s this writing on it that implies it was a gift to me. I don’t recognize the name, though. I haven’t shown it to anyone yet.”

            Nikita didn’t say anything, waiting, though her expression vaguely suggested curiosity. I handed the weapon off to her, sheathe and all. She took it carefully, holding it close to herself and up to her face, turning it in slow rotations between her hands. When she got to the inscription, she paused. Her expression didn’t change, but she stared at it for a long time.

            “Buck Williams,” I said, resting my head in one hand. “Never heard of ‘em before in my life. Makes me think Monobear really did mess with our memories, you know?”

            She stared a moment longer before handing it back. “Yes,” she said. “It does.”

            “Well, listen,” I said. “I’m gonna go rest for a bit. It was nice talking with you.”

            She nodded once, as per the usual. “Stay safe, Madison.”

            I grit my teeth at the name, but nodded as I walked off, eager to get somewhere where I could be on my own and think.

            I was once again baffled by my interaction with Nikita. She’d said she wanted to talk to me about something, but I couldn’t tell if we’d actually talked about it or not. She’d seemed satisfied, though, because she let me leave. So maybe she just wanted to take a look at my weapon? It seemed sort of unimportant, though. I had hoped that talking to her would let me know more about her, but she was still just as much of a mystery as she had been before.

            I couldn’t see the sky, but instinct told me that evening was approaching. Soon the first day would have passed, and uneventfully at that. Worry gnawed at my stomach. This left us with five days to get out of here—or to be killed by Monobear. The odds definitely weren’t good, but were they bad enough to convince someone to kill one of their peers? I wasn’t sure how to answer that question, and it only made me more worried.

            But for now, there was nothing I could do. So I made my way towards my cell, head full of questions about what might happen next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our title for the Prologue was Strength Through Chaos, which was a reference to Runescape. Real classy, I know. If you don't know the lore of the game, this is one of a few mantras of the followers of Zamorak, the God of Chaos. Zamorak's theory about the world essentially states that experiences of chaos or disorder bring people together, and thus make them stronger. We're presenting this same idea in the prologue: our characters are about to be thrown into chaos. Will it cripple them, or will they come out of the experience stronger than they were before?
> 
> I sort of gave away the source of this chapter's title in the summary, so no guessing game here. I'll explain why I chose it in the notes for the next one.
> 
> I'd like to think that the song Jack and Malcolm were playing was [this one.](http://homestuck.bandcamp.com/track/gardener)


	3. AF Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death and destruction.

            Hi my name is Mads Isabelle Roden Rorschach McBride and I have short blood red hair (that has nothing to do with my name) with black streaks that reaches my mid-neck and dark brown eyes like pools of death and a lot of people tell me I look like Gundam Tanaka (AN: If you don’t know who that is, please exit my presence immediately.) I’m not related to Aaron Feitelberg but I wish I was because he’s a major fucking hottie. I’m a furry but my teeth are straight and white. I have pale white skin. I’m also a performer, and I go to a school called Hope’s Peak Academy except I’m in prison right now for some reason. I’m nonbinary (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly black. I love obscure thrift stores and I buy all my clothes from them. For example today I was wearing a red sweater with a matching scarf around my neck and a black pair of skinny jeans, zodiac necklaces and black combat boots. I was wearing black lipstick, white foundation, black eyeliner and red eye shadow. I was walking outside my prison cell. I couldn’t see the sky but I imagined that it was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I was very happy about. A lot of gay ass nerdy fucking students stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.  
            “Hey Mads!” shouted a voice. I looked up. It was…. Zachary Jones!  
            “What’s up Zach?” I asked.  
            “Nothing.” he said shyly.  
            But then, I heard a crashing sound and I had to go away.

            And by “go away”, I do not mean leave Zach’s presence. I mean leave this poorly-edited narrative copypasta of the first chapter of _My Immortal_ and instead enter a world of new, fresh, completely original content delivered directly by Deadcanons herself.

            The crashing sound Mads heard—I mean I heard—was the sound of a nearby wall of the prison being completely fucking smashed to pieces. From the rubble and smoke emerged the hulking form of a fully grown velociraptor. On its back was none other than the real, legitimate, bona-fide Gam Ponytore. She was wearing this wicked black cloak and grinning like an idiot.

            “Yo,” she said to me, all cool and chill, as if none of this was even that big of a deal. “Wanna ditch this hellhole?”

            “Yeah man,” I said. I would have equipped sunglasses, if I had a pair. “Totally.”

            The other students had gathered behind me at the sound of the crash. Everyone said a generic but relevant expletive in order to establish their presence in the narrative. They were indeed both present and relevant, as seen by the frequent acknowledgement of their existence in canonspace. (AN: I mean, I try to do that every chapter, if you hadn’t noticed.)

            But suddenly, there was a twist. Laura stepped forward, tears pouring from her eyes. “Mads,” she bemoaned. “While I am happy to see that our dinosaur-mounted savior has arrived, I cannot leave. My heart, and those of all the other students, are too heavy with grief.”

            “For whatever reason could this be?” I pleaded.       

            “Alas,” she cast her head back, hand draped over her forehead as though she could collapse at any moment. “One of us has invariably died, as predictably dictated by the rules of this prison in which we have lived. This student is lost to us forever!”

            I wept so hard that I clogged my tear duct and gave myself a black eye. But even in this dark moment, when all seemed lost, Gam piloted her majestic dinosaur forward to stand next to me.

            “Worry not,” she said, every fiber of her being exuding heroism. “I will revive your comrade.”

            What followed was the most beautiful dance number ever conceived as Gam fused with her velociraptor to create the legendary crystal gem Spinel. (AN: That’s her Steven Universe OC, obviously.) Words are not capable of describing the beauty of this dance. It transcended human comprehension. It dazzled every fiber of my being. I’m lucky I didn’t pass out.

            Spinel swished her heavy, gem-studded tail and pointed at Laura. “Take me to the fallen one.”

            Laura led the way to the back of the cell area, where the empty, dead husk of our friend could be seen. I looked away, stifling a dramatic and emotionally wrenching sob. Aaron patted me gently on the shoulder, his comforting gesture a symbol of his heightened importance in the story, despite the fact that this particular scene had nothing to do with him.

            Spinel strode forward, kneeling down in front of the dead student. She touched the broad, flat tip of her tail to the person’s forehead (AN: whose name will not be revealed for the sake of suspense), and they immediately sprung back to life, joyously greeting their chums. All was happy and well.

            “Now,” Spinel announced, grinning with razor sharp teeth. “We escape!”

            But suddenly, there was another twist. Standing at the end of the corridor was none other than Monobear. Despite all odds its grin was somehow larger and sharper and more intense than even Spinel’s. Spinel gasped dramatically. “Oh no! It is the mastermind, my greatest enemy… Cardboard Junko.”

            “No!” I cried out as memories of the war rushed back to me. “Cardboard Junko? But it cannot be… she is the worst scourge to ever be conceived.”

            Spinel nodded, looking very sad. “After she defeated all of the students at the campsite, she betrayed her loving wife Haley and killed her. Strangled her in her cardboard hands. And now she has come to destroy all of you! But do not be afraid. I am here to stop her.”

            What followed was a two-hour long, all-out war between Spinel and Cardboard Junko. There was fire and guns and explosions. I almost died, like, seven times. But Spinel was brave and used her cool combination tail and weapon to protect and save us. Her bravery made me super emotional. I cried so hard that I clogged my other tear duct and gave myself a second black eye.

            “This is for Haley!” Spinel screamed as she delivered the killing blow. I didn’t know why she was dedicating the kill to Haley, since Haley had been the one to betray all of us in the first place, but I decided not to question Spinel’s limitless wisdom and power.

            When the smoke cleared, Spinel was standing triumphantly over the beaten and crumpled piece of shit husk of cardboard and laminated print that had once been Cardboard Junko. We all cheered and embraced Spinel. I sliced my stomach open on the side of her tail and didn’t even care.

            Sadly, Spinel then had to unfuse so she could be Gam and the velociraptor again. But then Gam let me ride on the back of the dinosaur with her so I was happy. “Let’s blow this motherfucker!” she announced, charging through the hole in the prison through which she’d first arrived.

            The other students followed behind us as we rode off into the sunset, free from the prison’s weird mutual killing and creepy timer that probably hadn’t represented anything relevant or important to the plot in any way whatsoever.

            And it was good.

            The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, last year I brought you Cardboard Junko. I could hardly wimp out this year, now could I?
> 
> I was originally only going to make it an edit of the first chapter of My Immortal, but I'd forgotten just how short that chapter really was. So when I reached the end I just started adding to it and now here we are. 
> 
> On a more serious note: the Chapter 1 title, A Palace of Pearls. The poem of the same title (or at the very least the section I pulled from it) is talking about the idea of what would happen if we were taken out of nature: taken out of society, out of our own lives, out of reality itself. What, then, would the poets write about? They would have to "sing of the ineffable as true"--in other words, fiction would become reality. And they would start with a palace of pearls. Chapter 1 is our beginning; our Palace of Pearls.


	4. 1.2 "A Color Wheel"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter this time around. That's to be expected of a victim chapter, though.

(Ab)normal Days Part 2

            I predictably couldn’t get to sleep that night.

            I’d like to say that it was the stress, or my excitement about all the new students, or the fear of getting murdered, but really it was something much simpler that kept me up. Every time I closed my eyes I could see the dark red numbers of the timer, the LEDs flashing in my head like a siren. I couldn’t shake the feeling that, regardless of whether I was sleeping or not, that thing would keep counting down to my demise. It put me on edge and made me hopelessly irritable.

            It’s not like I’d slept well before all of this happened. The prison was cold and the beds uncomfortable, so most of the sleep I’d gotten was restless and short. That being said, it’s worth noting that there hadn’t been much to do during the past month, so sleep was an activity that I’d resorted to often. I wasn’t sure how I’d respond to a night of no sleep at all. Not wanting to face the consequences of such a thing, I got out of bed and paced around my cell, hoping to tire myself out.

            Of course I hadn’t calculated the total darkness of the room into my plan. I’d hit my knee on the bedframe twice before I decided I’d better turn on a light.

            All of us had a flashlight in the drawer beneath our desks. I suppose they’d been issued to us for much the same purpose as I was using it now—being able to see around our cell at night. Since the rooms were supposed to be completely sealed, it wasn’t bothering anyone else to have a light on. But of course there was a crack between my cell and Aaron’s, so I took care to not shine the beam in his direction.

            The bright blue light cast sharp, angular shadows around the walls of the cell. It fell on the small, dirty little mirror above my desk, and I stared at my own bluelit reflection, frowning. My hair was half black and half red, and cut short, reaching the base of my neck.  I was wearing a thick red sweater that would easily fall into the zone of “shitty Christmas aesthetic,” black skinny jeans, and heavy black combat boots. The only other noteworthy aspects of my appearance were my black-rimmed glasses, the Pentacle necklace hanging from my neck, and the zodiac pendants clipped to a chain that was threaded through the belt loops of my jeans. The sharp glare of the flashlight accented the sallow parts of my face, and for a moment I fancied myself a hunter in the forest, stalking a wild animal by moonlight, with nothing but my knife to make the kill.

            Shaking away that ridiculously stupid idea, I placed the flashlight down on the desk and pulled my ElectroID out of my back jeans pocket. I’d yet to check the thing (mostly because I was still reluctant to entertain Monobear’s stupid rules) and now seemed as good of a time as any. There were three tabs: Student Profiles, Prison Map, and School Rules. I found it odd that the rules were specifically described as _school_ rules, but didn’t think much of it. We were all still Hope’s Peak students, after all.

            The rules read as follows:

  1.       All students are to live a communal lifestyle within the prison. This sentence will reach its duration at the end of six days.
  2.       The hours between 10PM and 7PM are known as Night Time. Cells will automatically be locked during this time. To enter or exit your cell during Night Time, hold your ElectroID up to the barcode scanner on your door.
  3.       No other restrictions will be placed on your actions during Night Time.
  4.       You may investigate the prison as much as you wish. No limitations have been placed on your actions.
  5.       Damage to your ElectroIDs, locked doors, or your prison warden are not allowed and will be met with punishment.
  6.       A culprit who kills a fellow student will be allowed to leave, regardless of whether or not they are caught.
  7.       All students who have not killed one of their peers by the end of the six days will be terminated along with the prison.
  8.       Additional rules may be added at any time.



            I made a face, frowning at the rules. Many of them seemed to have been strangely and specifically worded, as though suiting a different purpose beyond the obvious. What especially caught my eye was the details of number seven: if we didn’t kill anyone we would be “terminated along with the prison”? What was that supposed to mean?

            Unable to find any answers, my attention quickly turned to rule number two. During the day today, all of our cells had been unlocked and free for anyone to open. But it seemed that during the night I would only be able to enter my own cell, and would have to unlock it with my ElectroID in order to do so.

            Curious, I picked up my flashlight in my free hand and approached the door. There was indeed a small panel to the left of the handle that looked like it could scan something, if given the opportunity. I held my ID up in front of it, the display facing the scanner. After a brief moment there was a muffled beep and a click as the door popped open. I was a little confused as to _how_ exactly, considering there was no barcode or anything on the ID to scan, but if it worked it worked. I wasn’t about to let myself get caught up in little minutia like that.

            Since the door was open, I figured I might as well go get a drink. At the very least it would give me something to do—I still wasn’t feeling tired, and sitting around in my cell wasn’t my first idea of a fun time. I stepped out into the hallway, closing my door carefully for fear of waking anyone up. The walls appeared to be made of concrete, or at the very least something heavy, but that didn’t mean they were soundproof.

            The prison was pitch black at night, so I was startled to see a light coming from the opposite corridor. I looked over to see that a student’s cell door was open, a bright yellow light pouring out from within—probably their flashlight. I wondered why in the fuck they had their door open, but wasn’t really in the mood to talk to anyone, so rather than walk over to engage them I simply moved on down the hall.

            The area on the way to the cafeteria was wide enough that the blue light of my flashlight couldn’t reach the opposite wall until I was about halfway across the room. It was a quiet walk, the cold of the prison seemingly more oppressive in the darkness. My footsteps echoed as I went, but the heavy door to the cafeteria made no noise as I pulled it open.

            The cafeteria was illuminated by the steady red glow of the timer above the stage. The moment I saw it I began to regret making the trip over here: just looking at the stupid thing made my head hurt. I flicked off my flashlight and directed my gaze towards the kitchen, the numbers 127.15.11 glowing behind my eyelids.

            It didn’t take long to get myself a drink. I stared at the glass of water after taking a sip, studying the way the red light illuminated the rim of the glass and the ripples in the water. For a moment I was so lost in thought that I didn’t see the cafeteria door open. It didn’t make a sound as it swung inward. What snapped me out of my reverie was the loud bang of the door slamming shut as whoever had opened it fled the scene.

            The glass shook in my hands as I jumped, startled. Silence returned as the person’s footsteps quickly retreated. Why did they run from me like that? Did they not want to be seen? Suddenly and abruptly a keen sense of fear filled my throat, making it hurt to swallow.

            I quickly put the glass down and jogged over to the door. Swinging it open, I called out into the dark hall. “Hello?”

            There was, of course, no answer.

            I pulled my flashlight out of my pocket, struggling to turn it on in my haste. Blue light filled the room, but there was no one to be seen. I considered calling out again, but suddenly it didn’t seem like such a good idea. My heart pounded in my chest. Now, more than anything, I just wanted to get back to my cell.

            I made my way as quickly and quietly as I could back to the cells, turning my flashlight off near the halfway mark out of fear of being seen. As I made my way down the hall, the pictures of Jillian and Jake seemed to stare at me. Frowning at me, as though disappointed. I wanted to run, but I forced myself to keep a steady pace.

            Near the end of the hall, however, I could once again see the yellow light pouring out from the opposite corridor. Did that student still have their door open? Was that the person who’d tried to come into the cafeteria? I slowed my pace, wary of what I might find around the corner.

            When I did eventually peer down the hall, I saw Natasha and Kayla standing side by side in a terse discussion. Both were frowning and looked badly spooked. Sensing that there was no danger, I stepped out into the open. Natasha noticed me first and immediately became guarded, stepping back from Kayla and watching me with a dark expression. Kayla spun around to face me.

            “Hey,” I said, finding my voice a little hoarse. “Is something wrong?”

            They exchanged a glance. Kayla nodded towards the open cell door. I could see a flashlight, the source of the bright yellow beam, lying on the ground a few feet away from the door. “See for yourself,” she murmured, tone bitter.

            I walked past them, around the corner of the door, heart in my mouth. I already knew what I was going to see, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I wanted to pretend that everything would be okay: that this wasn’t happening, that we weren’t trapped in a prison and hadn’t been told to kill each other. I wanted to pretend that I wasn’t going to see a body on the other side of the door’s threshold. But that didn’t make it any less real.

            Lying on the floor, his right hand pinned to the ground by one of his drumsticks, was Malcolm, a bloody red hole in the center of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the RYB color spectrum in this part. That wasn't even intentional. 
> 
> Like with Re:kindle's Chapter One, I wasn't entirely sure who was going to be found dead until I began writing. Unlike Re:kindle, however, I didn't change it from my original choice. 
> 
> (A special apology to Malcolm. I didn't want to have to kill him first, but the story doesn't work any other way. I was forced into this decision and it sucked.)


	5. 1.3 "Sense of Value"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigation time.

Investigation

            I stared, breath hitching hard in my throat. My stomach was doing flips; dismay filled every part of me, along with a keen feeling of total fury at that fact that someone could have done this. I couldn’t believe one of us would actually sink so low as to murder someone.

            A few seconds after I saw Malcolm’s body, the invisible speakers clicked on. “A body has been found!” Monobear announced. “If you want to know what’s going on, just come out of your cell. You’ll see where to go soon enough.”

            When he fell silent I once again tried to find my voice, but was spared the struggle when Caehl’s door flung open to my left. She looked around in a startled panic, quickly noticing the three of us. “Oh no,” she said. “Oh _no._ Is it Malcolm?”

            I nodded.

            She sucked in a breath; bit her lip. “Shit.”

            No one really had much to say. Before long the other students arrived: some disoriented, some in a panic, some full of anger. Needless to say, everyone was on edge and tense, looking at their peers with dark, troubled eyes. Since I’d gotten here first I was close to the wide-open door, near where Malcolm’s body lay. My foot hit his flashlight on the ground; I looked down at it, watching in a half-numb silence as the beam scattered and skittered across the dark ground.

            Once everyone had arrived, Monobear showed up, swaggering down the unlit corridor with its usual grin. Its red eye gleamed in the darkness. “Well, well, well. Looks like one of you finally got up the confidence to off someone! So, culprit: you call out for me when you’re ready to talk to me, okay? I’ll get you out of here. And none of you try anything funny! I’ve been monitoring all of you, so I know who the _real_ culprit is.” It then turned away. “Alright, that’s all. Thanks!”

            “Hang on a minute,” Natasha snapped. It turned to glance back at her. “Is that it? There is no justice? No admittance of guilt? You will not tell us who the killer was?”

            “It doesn’t matter,” the bear said flatly. “They’re going to get out either way. So why do you care?”

            “They murdered our friend!” I blurted out, unable to stop myself.

            At this Monobear paused, turning to face us again. “Your friend, eh?” it said. “And what makes you say he’s your friend, huh?”

            We stared, silent. “I’m serious,” the bear continued. “Tell me something about Malcolm. What was the name of his band? Do you know that? How about his birthday? His favorite color? What was he doing before he got here? What did he plan on doing if he got out? He had a girlfriend, you know. Did he ever tell you about his girlfriend? No, of course he didn’t. Because you didn’t know him _at all._ You didn’t know him any better than you know a stranger off the street. Just a name and a face. It means nothing. You weren’t friends.”

            “You can’t—” Ash took a breath. “You can’t say that! You tampered with our memories. Who’s to say one of us wasn’t his best friend before all of this?”

            Monobear shrugged. “That’s true enough. It’s certainly possible. But I’m not talking about the past, am I? I’m talking about right now. Just because you _might_ have known him in the past doesn’t mean you _do_ know him now. You can’t use that as an excuse.”

            Jack looked stunned, but only for a brief moment. As he recovered, he reached for his guitar. “You fucking—you piece of shit, don’t talk about us like that. We hadn’t even been here for a day! We didn’t have a chance to—to know him—”

            His words were cut off as Kayla and Isabelle struggled to hold him back. The bear laughed out loud at his useless flailing. “Yeah, but I’m making you mad, ain’t I? So at least _something_ I’m saying must be true to you. Sure is frustrating how you can’t get any answers, huh?”

            “Then _help us_ get answers,” Natasha growled at him. “Don’t just stand there and act so smug.”

            Monobear considered her. “Okay,” it said, surprising me. “How about this? I’ll give you guys some time to try and figure out who the murderer is. They can’t leave until your investigation is finished. No matter what conclusion you reach, they still get to leave. But you might get a chance to talk to them, you know? Maybe they’ll have some answers for you. How does that sound?”

            A few of us exchanged glances. I noticed Nikita standing at the back of the crowd, eyeing Monobear with a dark and almost annoyed frown. “Fine, I guess,” Laura said after a moment. “It’s better than nothing.”

            “Cool,” the bear said, turning away. “I’ll announce when your time is up. Have fun investigating!”

            The thing left. I glanced behind me, watching as the other students gradually turned to one another and began to talk. So we were going to investigate this thing, huh? Didn’t seem like a bad idea. I didn’t know which of these assholes had killed Malcolm, but I wasn’t going to let them get out of here until I’d given them a piece of my mind. This was fucked up and horrible and I was honestly surprised that I wasn’t screaming my head off out of rage.

             Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself to look at his body once again—but when I turned around, I was startled to find Nikita in my way. “Hey,” I said, wondering what she could possibly want this time.

            “I was wondering if you would allow me to accompany you during the investigation,” she said.

            “Uh…” I blinked. “What, you mean like when we were introducing ourselves to everyone?”

            She nodded once.

            I rubbed at the back of my neck. “Um, sure, I guess. But, I mean, uh… Don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe at some point you should try to hang out with some of the other people here? You know, not just me?”

            She looked briefly taken aback. “You misunderstand me. I will not be offended if you do not want my company. I was offering for your benefit, not mine.”

            “What?” I made a face. “You think I’m lonely or something? Cause I’m not, for the record.”

            “That…” she sighed, looking away. “…Wasn’t what I meant. May we please just begin investigating? We only have a finite amount of time, and I do not want to waste it.”

            “Okay,” I said, trying to act like I wasn’t offended. “Whatever.”

            She stepped aside, falling in pace behind me as I approached Malcolm’s cell yet again. Nothing had changed since I’d first seen the body. He was lying on his back, half spread-eagle, palms loose and empty. His right hand was lying out away from him, palm skewered to the ground by one of his drumsticks. His head was tilted towards his hand, as though he’d been looking at the injury when he died; his eyes were open and empty. His other drumstick was lying a few inches away from the pinned hand. In the middle of his chest was a single, bloody gash, his shirt torn and shredded all around the wound.

            I was trying to think of where to start when the speakers clicked on again. “Hey! Monobear here, of course. I’ve added another tab to your ElectroIDs. You should find the information in there pretty helpful for solving Malcolm’s murder. Have fun!”

            Nikita and I exchanged a glance, then pulled out our IDs. Sure enough, there was a new tab called “Monobear Files.” I opened it to see a mock autopsy of Malcolm’s body, along with a description of the murder:

            _The victim is Malcolm McDowall. His body was discovered lying on the ground just inside the doorway of his cell. The victim died while the timer was on hour 127. The cause of death was a stab wound in the center of his chest, delivered by a sharp blade. There are several smaller wounds around this one, as well as a stab wound going through his right hand. There are no traces of poison or drugs._

            I frowned at the description, skimming it a few times over. It seemed to cover all the details, and it was nice that Monobear had included the fact about a lack of poison or drugs. Maybe this murder wouldn’t be too hard to solve? I couldn’t help but get my hopes up.

            “This is interesting,” Nikita said. “The part about the timer. It seems as though Monobear would like us to calculate our time here based entirely on what the timer says.”

            “We have clocks in our rooms,” I reminded her.

            “They’ve changed,” she said. “They now read the timer display rather than the actual time of day.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “Really? Fuck, how did that asshole even program that?”

            She didn’t respond, offering me a small and sort of morose half-shrug. Unsure of what to say, I turned to look back down at Malcolm. Not wanting to get too close to his corpse just yet, I figured I’d better start with his hand and knelt down.

`           Now inspecting one of them closer, I couldn’t help but marvel at the craftsmanship of his drumsticks. The first several inches of the tips were capped in sharp, sculpted steel, while the rest of the stick was wood. It appeared as though the caps could be removed for actual drumming, though I was in no mood to try it out myself. After a moment of hesitation I reached out and lifted up his hand—the stick went all the way through, stuck in between two blocks of concrete on the ground.

            “Could I see?” a voice said behind me. I turned to see Bree standing there, her hands crossed behind her back. I leaned to the side so she could look. “That’s quite the injury,” she said, tone wondrous. “Whoever did it would have had to stab him very hard to make it go through the concrete.”

            “It’s stuck in a seam in the ground,” I pointed out.

            “That’s more plausible, then,” she said. “But it still would have taken a lot of effort. The culprit did this deliberately for sure.”

            I nodded absently, eyes lowering to the other drumstick near his hand. I picked it up, frowning. “Weird that they’re both on this side of his body.”

            “What’ya mean?” Bree asked.

            “If I was fighting with these, I’d have one in each hand,” I said. “But both of them are on the right side of his body. So did one of them get moved over somehow?”

            She considered. “Perhaps the one on the ground was the one in his right hand. The one that stabbed him was in his left hand.”

            “So the culprit grabbed it from him and then attacked?”

            Natasha was standing nearby, arms crossed over her chest. “It seems likely.” She walked over and picked up the free stick in her right hand, taking a fighting stance. “Say the other one was in his left hand.” She nodded at Bree. “The culprit grabbed it from him…”

            Bree straightened up and mimed swiping an invisible drumstick from Natasha’s left hand. “…But was still being attacked by the stick in his right hand,” Natasha continued. “So the culprit used the stolen stick to pin his hand down.”

            “And Malcolm dropped the other drumstick in the process?” I asked, watching them.

            “I suppose so,” Natasha said. “I can’t think what else would have happened.”

            “Makes sense to me,” Bree added.

            “Okay,” I said. “Thanks, guys.” I looked back towards Malcolm, wondering what else I could figure out. My eyes wandered, predictably, to the stab wound in his chest. A quick and unpleasant inspection revealed that the wound didn’t go through to the other side. It was a thin, straight hole—definitely the work of a blade, just as the Monobear file had said. It was immediately clear that the drumstick’s size didn’t line up with the hole, however—so something else must have caused it.

            Noticing the comparison I was doing, Jack walked over. He’d been further inside of Malcolm’s cell, studying the contents of his desk. “What are you doing?” he asked me as he approached.

            “The drumsticks don’t match up with the hole in his chest,” I said. “So some other weapon must have killed him.”

            “The Monobear file says it’s a blade,” he offered. “So that narrows it down a bit.”

            I made a face. “You think I should just go around comparing everyone’s weapons? That seems like sort of a blunt way to find the murderer.”

            He shrugged. “It could work.”

            “I suppose,” I said, then offered him a light smile. “Well, your guitar didn’t do it, that’s for sure. The blades are too wide.”

            “True enough,” he said with a laugh. “Anyway, good luck.”

            As he was walking back, I turned to see Aaron shouldering his way into the room, looking distinctly annoyed at the overcrowded nature of Malcolm’s cell. He noticed me leaning down in front of the stab wound and made his way over. “Hey,” he said. “How are you doing tonight?”

            “Pretty fucking pissed off!” I told him with a mock grin.

            “Because of the…?” he nodded at Malcolm.

            “Yeah,” I muttered. “Because of that.”

            “Well, talk to me,” he said. “What’ve you got so far?”

            I frowned, surveying the area as I spoke. “Well, it looks like the culprit grabbed one of his drumsticks from him in order to stab his hand. The killing blow was done by a different weapon. I’m thinking I’m going to ask to see some of the other students’ weapons. For comparison, you know.”

            In response he slung his machete off of his shoulder and held it out. I could tell immediately that the blade was far too wide to have created the wound in Malcolm’s chest. “It’s not me,” he said as I looked. “I mean, obviously not. I’m not gonna kill anyone. Just figured I’ll help in any way I can, especially if it’s gonna get me off the suspect list.”

            “Right,” I said.

            He put the machete away. “I also came over here to see his injuries myself. The file says he had other wounds around the one that killed him?”

            I nodded, frowning down at the blood pooled around his middle. His shirt was ripped and shredded in several different areas around the killing blow. I pulled at one corner of the fabric. “Do you think we could just…?”

            “Might as well,” Aaron said bitterly. “It’ll help us solve the murder.”

            I gently pushed his shirt up. It was sticky from blood and took some effort, making me grimace. I held it up over his face, giving us a good view of the various scratches and slices all along his chest and the upper part of his stomach. Nikita, ever-silent, peered over Aaron’s shoulder to look as well.

            “Jesus,” Aaron muttered. “Someone really did a number on him.”

            “Why do you think they scratched him up like this?” I asked, swallowing.

            “There must have been a fight,” he said. “Explains why the culprit had to take his drumstick, to pin his hand. Stopped him from fighting back.”

            “I guess,” I said. “But it also looks like they might have missed the first few times they tried to hit him.”

            “Perhaps they did not commit on their first few attempts at the kill,” Nikita offered.

            Aaron glanced back at her. “What, like they chickened out at first?”

            “It is possible,” she said, then looked down. “Murder is not an easy thing to do, especially when the person holds any sense of value for the life they are about to take.”

            “I guess so,” he said, then grinned a little weakly. “Though like Monobear said, we didn’t really know Malcolm at all, did we?”

            “I suppose not,” she responded, seemingly indifferent. “But our mastermind underestimates the value of a name. The culprit had a name to put to Malcolm’s face. This alone could have slowed their blade.”

            “Or they actually _did_ know him,” I said, frowning. Nikita looked up at me, as though surprised.

            Aaron narrowed his eyes. “Why kill your friend? That doesn’t make any sense. Especially because we didn’t _know_ they were friends. They’re not gaining anything from killing someone they actually care about.”

            “True,” I said. “Just… something about it seems weird.”

            Starting to feel like there was nothing else I could gain from inspecting the body, I soon got to my feet. I frowned down at Malcolm’s lifeless form, feeling a sense of dread crawl through my limbs. It occurred to me suddenly that, as far as I was aware, I’d never seen a dead body before. Yet I was strangely unperturbed as I stood here, investigating Malcolm’s death. It made me wonder what memories Monobear had taken from us, and in a moment I was back to that “we all used to be serial killers” theory. Shaking away the unpleasant idea, I turned around to see AJ frowning at the body with an expression quite similar to mine.

            “What’s wrong?” I asked.

            “Huh?” she glowered over at me. “Oh, nothing. I just keep thinking about the way he’s lying. All sprawled out on the floor like that.”

            “What’s wrong with it?” I asked.

            “Not exactly a good position for making a kill, if you ask me,” she said. “The culprit would have had to be on top of him to stab him like this.”

            “Unless they stabbed him first,” I said, then considered. “But, no, that doesn’t make sense. We’ve already figured out that the culprit pinned his hand down first in order to stop him from fighting back. So you’re right, they would have had to have been on top of him.”

            “That tells me that it was probably a pretty messy kill,” AJ said. “I’m betting you that it didn’t go according to plan. The culprit probably had to compromise some things in the heat of the moment.”

            I frowned. “What, like… they had a cleaner attack planned at first?”

            “I would _hope_ so,” she grumbled. “You’d have to be a pretty big idiot to actually plan for things to go the way they did here.”

            “Good point,” I said, grinning—but the grin quickly faded. “Hey, uh… you’ve got a rapier as a weapon, right?”

            She nodded, looking vaguely suspicious, then unclipped the weapon from where it hung at her side. It was long and elegant and far too thin to have dealt Malcolm’s killing blow. “Why do you ask?”

            “Just trying to see if I can’t figure out whose weapon killed Malcolm,” I said. “And yours is off the suspect list.”

            “That’s a relief,” she muttered, tone somewhat mocking. “Or it would be, if I was actually the killer.”

            “I’m not trying to point any fingers here,” I said, putting my hands up. “I just want to be thorough.”

            “Whatever,” she said coolly, but seemed placated regardless.

            Eager to make my way out of that interaction, I quickly sidestepped her and slipped out of Malcolm’s room, back into the dark corridor. Nikita managed to keep up, stepping lightly over the threshold and coming to stand at my side. I looked around. Zach was standing nearby, holding Malcolm’s flashlight and studying the beam that it cast across the dark prison. I walked over, pleasantly relieved by his presence.

            “Wish Monobear would turn the lights on,” I told him.

            “It _is_ still nighttime,” he said, sighing. “Maybe this is one of the things that Monobear doesn’t have any control over?”

            I shrugged. “Maybe. This seems like an awful pointless thing to not have any power over, though.”

            “Yeah.” Zach was quiet for a moment. “How do you suppose his flashlight got out here?”

            “I’ve been wondering that myself,” I said. “He must have dropped it at some point, which means he also had to have been out in this corridor at some point. I have no idea why, though.”

            “We’ll definitely have to figure that out then,” he said, trying to look positive, or at the very least determined. But the expression didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes. After a moment he added, “I… I’ve also been wondering… why he didn’t scream.”

            “Me too,” I said. “The walls here are pretty thick, but not soundproof in any way. If he’d yelled, the sound would have carried.” I considered. “In fact, we probably would have been able to save him if he had.”

            “And it doesn’t look like the culprit covered his mouth with anything,” he murmured.

            I frowned. “And the culprit couldn’t have knocked him out, either. All the signs of the crime show that there was a fight, so he had to have been conscious for that.”

            “The Monobear file also would have had to include a head injury,” Nikita added, voice low. “So it is more or less impossible for Malcolm to have been knocked unconscious.”

            “It’s very strange,” Zach said, nodding.

            “I’ll look into it,” I told him. “By the way, that umbrella of yours… what does it shoot, exactly?”

            “They’re sort of like little metal darts,” he said, glancing down at the weapon in question. “I don’t really want to shoot another one, though. It was dangerous enough the first time. But the one that almost hit you is still in the armory, if you want to have a look.”

            “Alright, sounds good,” I said. “Thanks.”

            “Hey—” As I turned to leave, he touched my arm abruptly. I spun around to see him staring at me, expression morbid. “Th-The culprit. You don’t really think they’re one of us, do you?”

            “It has to be, doesn’t it?” I said.

            “Well…” he glanced down. “What if it was a set up? What if Monobear was lying and _he’s_ the one who killed Malcolm? Shouldn’t we at least consider that?”

            I knit my eyebrows together, watching him. “Well, if all else fails, we’ll get to find out the truth when it’s time for that person to leave. Even if we don’t get to talk to them, then we’ll know for sure who it was.”

            “Okay,” he said. “I just… can’t believe it.”

            I laid a hand on his shoulder. “Me neither. But the sooner we figure this out, the better.”

            He nodded, the gesture growing in strength with repetition. “Yeah. Thanks, Mads.”

            “You got it, Zach.”

            Ash and Ari were talking together a few feet away from Malcolm’s door, both looking equally troubled. Upon seeing me approach, Ash turned and waved me over, looking happy to see me. “Hey,” they said. “You’ve gone and taken a look at the body, right?”

            “Yeah,” I said. “Have you?”

            They made a face. “No. I mean, I’m going to, eventually. I just… as long as I don’t look, I can pretend that we’re all innocent. I want to keep doing that for a bit. It makes it easier for me to talk about the culprit candidly.”

            “Fair enough,” I said. “Did you want to ask me about anything?”

            “Yeah,” they said, running a hand through their hair. “Did you see anything in there that might have provided any hints as to why Malcolm’s door was open? It seems a little strange to me that it was just left like this.”

            I frowned. “No, I didn’t see anything. Though I was just talking with Zach, and we agree that the presence of his flashlight means he was out in this corridor at some point.”

            “That makes sense,” said Ari, who had been listening to all of this in silence. “Maybe the culprit convinced Malcolm to come out of his cell, and then he attacked him from around the corner.”

            “And the ensuing fight ended up with the two of them back in his room?” I asked. “I guess that would explain some things. It still leaves some holes, though. Why didn’t the culprit close the door or move the flashlight afterwards?”

            Ash considered. “Maybe they were in a hurry?”

            “Wait—” I rubbed a hand across my face. “Oh shit. _Duh._ ”

            “What?” they said, blinking.

            “I went to get a drink from the cafeteria last night,” I told the two of them. “Along the way, I saw that Malcolm’s door was open, with the flashlight shining out. I… well, I didn’t really think much of it, so I didn’t do anything at the time. But what if the culprit heard me, so they thought they would have to flee the scene quickly?”

            “That’s certainly possible,” Ari said, looking a little surprised. “But do the times add up? Did you go get your drink during the 127th hour?”

            I nodded. “I remember seeing it on the timer when I got into the cafeteria. And—now that you mention it, someone came in there and then fled when they saw me. That might have been the culprit.”

            “You should go check that out again,” she suggested. “See if you can figure out what was going on.”

            “Check the bathrooms, too,” Ash added. “They might have been looking for a place to wash off the blood.”

            “Good ideas,” I said. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

            As Nikita and I walked off, I pulled out my flashlight and turned it on. After a moment Nikita’s clicked on behind me, emitting another blue light that bobbed alongside mine. “You’ve got a blue one too?” I said.

            “Yes,” she said, tone level. “Why do you ask?”

            “I haven’t seen any other blue ones yet,” I said, thinking. “Well, then again, I’ve only seen Malcolm’s. Maybe everyone’s are either yellow or blue?”

            “I saw others outside while you were investigating,” she said. “Orange, green. I believe Caehl’s is white.”

            “Huh, weird. Maybe we’re the only ones with blue?”

            She didn’t say anything. I half-turned to glance back at her; her eyes gleamed in the low lighting, almost the same shade of blue as our flashlights. I swallowed. “I mean, it’s probably not anything important. Just making small talk.”

            “Of course,” she said. “I understand.”

            Within a few minutes, we were at the cafeteria. I held the door open for Nikita, slipping in behind her. The room was still lit by the dark numbers of the timer, which now read 125.29.32: I frowned up at it as I entered, wishing it could just stop for a few hours. I’d even take a few minutes, if only it was possible.

            Nothing looked too out of ordinary in the cafeteria. I could see my cup sitting on the table where I’d left it when I went to see what was going on. It struck me that all this had only happened a little over an hour ago—yet it felt like it had been days. My heart twisted up in my chest.

            Laura was leaning against the counter nearby. She sat up as we approached, putting down a glass of water. “Hey guys,” she said. “Have you found anything interesting?”

            “Lots of shit, yeah,” I said. “What are you doing over here?”

            “Just getting a drink,” she said, averting her gaze. Her expression was distinctly morose, eyes hidden behind the glint of her glasses in the low red light.

            “Hey,” I said. “We’re gonna avenge Malcolm, okay? I mean, it’s not like we can kill the culprit, but… At the very least we can shame them to death. It’s the least Malcolm deserves.”

            Laura quickly nodded. “I’m fine, don’t worry. What are _you_ doing here, though?”

            I leaned on the counter, taking a breath. “Last night, before we found Malcolm’s body, I was in here getting a drink. Like you. But someone else came in. When they saw me, though, they ran. I think it might have been the culprit.”

            “Why would they have come in here?” she asked.

            “I believe Ash’s theory may be the most likely answer,” Nikita said from behind me. “They thought it possible that the culprit was trying to find somewhere to wash off the blood.”

            Laura considered it, and then nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. The cafeteria sink would be the closest source of water. So where would they have gone afterwards?”

            “The bathrooms, we’re guessing,” I said. “I’m gonna check over there after I do a cursory search of this place.”

            “Good luck,” she said, picking up her glass again.

            I quickly scanned the cafeteria for anything of note, taking special care with the door, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Part of me had been hoping I would find some secret stash or something that the culprit had hidden, but that would have been too good to be true. Before I left I considered Laura’s weapon: a long and nasty-looking chain. That wouldn’t have been able to deal Malcolm’s fatal wound. After a short time Nikita and I left.

            Eager for any sort of concrete evidence, I quickly made my way to the bathrooms, checking the female ones first. Nikita and I went through each stall and shower, checking under the sinks and around the corners of the mirrors, but there was nothing of note. I soon looked over to Nikita, frowning. “Maybe I should check the male bathrooms.”

            She nodded once. “Good idea. I will accompany you.”

            “Uh—” I stared, a little surprised by her forwardness. “You sure you’re okay with that?”

            “Yes,” she said. “It does not matter, does it? It is only a bathroom. I have gone in male bathrooms before.”

            “What—why?”

            “Because I was with…” She frowned, narrowing her eyebrows. “…Nevermind. Let’s just go.”

            “Whatever,” I said, turning to make my way across the hall.

            The bathrooms seemed to be even darker than any other part of the prison. Our flashlights cast long and gaunt shadows over the stalls and shower curtains, illuminating the cold and eerily sterile aspects of the facilities. It didn’t take long for me to light on the bloodstain lining the edge of the sink.

            “Troubling,” Nikita observed from behind me.

            “Wow,” I growled, slamming my flashlight down on the lip of the sink. “This culprit was one _lazy_ motherfucker. They had water right here! They made no attempt to clean up after themselves. Are they just so cocky that they think we won’t be able to figure out who they are? What an _asshole._ ”

            “It seems likely that they were in a hurry,” she responded, unperturbed. “You had likely walked past Malcolm’s room just as they were finishing the kill. They then went into the cafeteria to clean up, but found you there, so fled to the bathroom. Monobear’s announcement that a body had been found happened mere minutes later. They would not have had the time to do a very thorough job.”

            I took a breath. “Good point. Still, this is…” I sighed.

            Before Nikita could respond, a new voice echoed at the entrance, a teal flashlight beam following in their wake. “Hey… what are you guys doing here?”

            I turned to see Jacob peering around the corner, holding his flashlight aloft. “Oh, hey,” I said. “We found a bloodstain on the sink in here.”

            “That’s worrying,” he said, eyebrows knitting together. “Does that mean the culprit is male?”

            “If they are one to follow the rules, yes,” Nikita said. “But we must also consider that there are nonbinary students here.”

            “And a girl could have come in here to throw us off,” Jacob said, notably narrowing his eyes at Nikita.

            I sighed. “Hey, Jacob, I’m glad I caught you. Could I see your weapon? The pocketknife?”

            “It’s a lot more than that,” he said as he pulled it from his pocket, handing it to me. “It’s got a little telescope attachment, three different screwdrivers, a laser pointer, a can opener, and a bunch of other stuff.”

            I could clearly see what he was talking about after only a minute or two of fiddling with the instrument. It was decked out to the nines, with all sorts of different attachments and other shit. I was most concerned about blades, though. After a minute I’d pulled everything out, counting up a grand total of five blades. The spread included a paring knife and a hunting knife, among other things. But even the largest blade wasn’t quite wide enough to have created the hole in Malcolm’s chest. I handed the pocketknife back to Jacob.

            “Impressive,” I said. “But probably not the murder weapon.”

            “Well that’s a relief!” he said, laughing weakly. “I wouldn’t want it to be.”

            “Good point,” I said, offering him a small smile. “Anyway, we’re gonna go see what else we can find.”

             The next stop was the armory. I wanted to check that metal dart from Zach’s umbrella to see if it might be responsible for Malcolm’s death. But on the way I was intercepted by Aaron, who came running from across the hall, red flashlight bobbing at his side.

            “Hey,” he said when he caught up to me, a little out of breath. “I found something.”

            “What is it?”

            He straightened up, sighing heavily. “Malcolm’s ElectroID. It was in his pocket. I thought you might want to know, since you were talking with some of the others about the door being left open.”

            “Thanks,” I said, surprised that he’d gone out of his way to tell me. “This must mean that he opened the door himself. Since only that person’s ElectroID can open their door at night.”

            “That’s what I was thinking,” he said. “Maybe it means that the culprit was visiting him. And he opened the door for them because he didn’t think he was in any danger.”

            I nodded. “Huh. Maybe that’s why he didn’t scream?”

            At this, Aaron made a face. “If someone attacks you like that, you’re probably going to scream. Unless he somehow magically went braindead for the duration of his own murder, there’s gotta be another reason for how silent he was.”

            “Good point,” I said. “I wanted to go check the armory before all this blows over, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

            “Alright,” he said. “See ya.”

            We were once again interrupted outside of the armory. Kayla and Isabelle were standing there, both toting flashlights that shone violet-colored beams in our faces as we approached. I put my hand up, turning my own flashlight off. “Hey you two, knock that off. I can’t see where I’m going.”

            “We shine the light of anime god into your eyes,” Kayla intoned. “He is represented by the color purple, for purple represents mystery, and anime god has a mystery level far beyond anything a lowly mortal could achieve.”

            “You need not see where you’re going when anime god stands beside you,” Isabelle added, nodding sagely.

            Kayla had begun bobbing the flashlight in little circles. I snatched it from her and clicked it off. “Jesus. What are you two doing over here anyway?”

            “Nii-san wanted to check the weapons in the armory,” she said. “She thinks that none of the students’ weapons match the injury on Malcolm’s chest, so we were checking to see if any of the weapons in here _would_ match.”

            “None of them did, in case you were wondering,” Isabelle added. “I have no idea what in the hell the culprit could have used to kill him like that.”

            Kayla huffed. “Isabelle, that’s not how you give exposition. Where’s the dramatic flair?” She took the flashlight back from me and turned it on, holding it under her chin to illuminate her face like an acid neon parody of a campfire horror story. She then explained, in an excessively dark tone, “We searched every weapon for even a spot of blood! When that failed, we sought out a blade of the appropriate shape. But even this was not to be! The murder weapon has eluded us every step of the way. Alas, Malcolm is doomed if we cannot find this terrible, accursed weapon!”

            “He’s dead,” she muttered. “He’s already doomed.”

            I sighed. “Right, okay. Thanks for the help, guys.”

            “No problem,” Isabelle said as the two of them walked off, Kayla flashing the light up and down in all sorts of absurd patterns.

            “Come on,” I said to Nikita as I held open the door. The two of us slipped inside, the door shutting quietly behind me. The room was filled with the empty smell of metal and I quickly turned on my flashlight again, imagining the culprit standing inside with a weapon at the ready. Nikita, in the meanwhile, walked to the center of the room and placed her flashlight down on the floor, creating something of a lantern. I kept mine with me for the sake of illuminating individual weapons.

            Step one was the dart from Zach’s umbrella, embedded in the wall to the right of the door. I walked over and attempted to pull it out, but the thing was stuck in there much farther than I’d assumed. After a moment Nikita stepped in front of me, and, bracing her foot against the wall, slowly pulled it free.

            She held it up in the light of my flashlight. It was a small, deadly-sharp metal piece, shaped like an arrowhead but much, much thinner. It was clearly built for the sake of being aerodynamic more than anything else—I recalled how it had shot from the umbrella like a bullet yesterday. Its construction was impressive, but it definitely wasn’t the weapon that had killed Malcolm. It was far too thin. And anyway, it wasn’t a blade: the Monobear file had specifically said that it was a blade.

            “No dice,” I said as Nikita carefully put it back into the hole in the wall. “And Kayla and Isabelle said that none of the other weapons in here could have done it, either.”

            I shone my flashlight around the room as I spoke, staring at the weapon racks in annoyance. Nikita followed the beam with her eyes. “Hmm,” she murmured. “The size and shape of the injury suggests a flat, square-shaped blade. Perhaps something almost Japanese in design, like a wakizashi or katana. None of the available weapons here are in this style. Meaning it must have been a student’s weapon.”

            I frowned, thinking. “You, Ash, Zach, Laura, Jack, the Seagraves, Natasha, and Ari don’t have blades. They have guns or other weapons that don’t fit the description. Those that do have blades—Caehl, Bree, AJ, Jacob, Aaron—don’t have the right kind of blade. I’m not missing anyone, am I?”

            “You are not,” she said, staring at the floor as though expecting to find answers there.

            I half-laughed and unsheathed my hunting knife at my side, stabbing it into the nearby table. “Well, _I_ could have done it.”

            Her gaze flicked to the blade, looking vaguely startled, as though I’d just pulled a live raccoon out of my pocket—but her expression soon reverted to normal. “No, you could not have. The blade is serrated. The wound would have been much more jagged and far less clean.”

            “I know,” I said, staring. “I was joking.”

            “Right. I know that.” She studied me for a moment, then looked away. “Perhaps we should attempt to piece together all the evidence we have discovered thus far. The answer may become clear through this process.”

            “Okay,” I said, placing my flashlight down on the table and hopping up to take a seat next to it. “I’ll try to summarize, then. This all started a couple of hours ago, either before or during the 127th hour on the timer.”

            “We know this because of the Monobear file,” Nikita said.

            I nodded. “We also had this confirmed by the fact that I was in the cafeteria around the time of the murder, and saw the timer. So… the culprit went to Malcolm’s room. Because all the doors are locked during Night Time, the only person who would have been able to open Malcolm’s door would be Malcolm himself, using his ElectroID. This means that the culprit must have knocked, or otherwise have gotten his attention to get him to open the door.”

            “I think it likely that the culprit approached him under the guise of a friend,” she added. “They would have wanted to make Malcolm comfortable around them, so his guard would be down.”

            “Yeah, that makes the most sense,” I said. “Regardless, Malcolm opened the door for them. He had his flashlight with him because of how dark it was in the corridor—and the culprit’s flashlight hasn’t been seen anywhere, so it seems as though they were hiding in the corridor in the dark.”

            “Which implies that the culprit attacked him when he stepped out into the corridor,” she said, eyes narrowed in thought. “The strategy of not using a light would have been wasted if they didn’t.”

            “But at this point it looks like the culprit might have chickened out,” I continued. “Malcolm had several scratch marks along his front. When you think about the fact that they had the perfect opportunity to stab him right then and there, it makes the most sense that the culprit didn’t fully commit.” After a moment of thought I added, “The asshole.”

            “This brings up something of not,” Nikita murmured. “When Malcolm opened his door, he must have been facing directly outwards. In order for these scratches to have happened, the culprit would have had to attack him from the front.”

            I bobbed my head in agreement. “So at that point, Malcolm must have seen who was attacking him. And when he was scratched was probably also when he dropped his flashlight.”

            “But he did not scream,” she noted.

            “No,” I said. “He didn’t. And I have no idea why. I think we’ll have to come back to that.”

            “Yes,” she said. “So then, the culprit’s attacks push him back into his own room—and onto the floor. It is at this point that he most likely began defending himself with his drumsticks. A struggle ensues, with the culprit on top of Malcolm.”

            “Based on the evidence, it looks like they were pretty evenly matched,” I said. “So to turn the odds in their favor, the culprit grabs one of Malcolm’s drumsticks from him, and uses it to pin down the opposite hand. They then, finally, deliver the killing blow—a single stab to the chest.”

            “We still do not know what weapon they used to do this,” she said. “But we will come back to it. What is next?”

            I considered. “At this point, I had already made my way into the cafeteria. In fact,” I added, suppressing a shudder, “I was probably walking by that hallway just as Malcolm was being killed. The culprit then needed a place to clean up the blood on them. Thinking the cafeteria was empty, they headed there to use the sink—but when they saw me, they panicked and quickly fled. The next viable option for them was the bathroom. They went to the male bathrooms, where they performed a rushed and honestly pretty shitty clean-up job. They left a bloodstain on the sink, which we found.”

            “But this does not necessarily guarantee that the culprit is male,” Nikita muttered. “They could have used the opposite bathroom and left the stain there deliberately to throw us off.”

            I made a face, hesitating. “Yeah, it’s possible… but something tells me that’s not what happened. Based on the timeline, plus how bad the culprit freaked when they saw me, I don’t think they were capable of thinking of something that clever in the heat of the moment.”

            She nodded once, then lowered her gaze, lost in thought for a moment as she tried to put the order of events together in her head. “So,” she said. “All we are missing is the weapon. It is evident to me that identifying the weapon will also reveal the identity of the culprit.”

            I sighed, frowning. “But how are we going to figure it out? It sounds like we’ve gone over all of the evidence there is. And we’ve looked at every damn weapon in this prison—none of them could have done it.”

            “There must be an avenue we have not considered,” she said. “Maybe if we—”

            It was then that the speakers clicked on. There was silence in the air for a moment, and then Monobear spoke. “Upupupupu,” the bear purred. “This sure is one weird culprit we have! They just contacted me and said that they want to stay here for the rest of the six days! Can you believe that? Obviously they’re still gonna get a free pass out of here when the time is up, but they still want to stick around until they end. I guess they’re the kind of person that really wants to see the blood fly!

            “Anyway, I’m gonna give you guys another hour to investigate, and then you’re all quarantined to your cells while I clean this place up. We can’t have Malcolm’s body stinkin’ up the whole prison. See ya!”

            Nikita and I stared at each other in amazement as the bear spoke. The culprit was going to stay here? Were they _fucking insane?_ After the speakers clicked off, Nikita let out a long breath through her nose. “We should return to Malcolm’s cell. There must be something we have overlooked.”

            I was going to respond, but then the armory door opened. Caehl walked in, the white beam of her flashlight making a cursory sweep around the area. The light settled on us, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh! I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here. I guess you guys are trying to figure out the murder weapon too, huh?”

            I nodded. “Any leads?”

            “You tell me,” she said. “Do any of the weapons in here match the wound?”

            I shook my head, frowning. “We’re totally fuckin’ stumped.”

            Caehl, on the other hand, seemed to brighten slightly at this news. “Looks like my hunch might be correct, then!”

            “What hunch is this?” Nikita asked.

            “Well, we’ve gone over every weapon in the prison at this point, right?” she said. “And none of them match the wound. But there aren’t any other weapons here, so one of the ones we’ve already looked at _has_ to be the right one.”

            “But like you just said, we’ve already looked at them,” I said, mystified. “We _know_ they can’t be the right one.”

            “Exactly!” she said. “Which means someone must have hidden one of their weapons until now. But it seems unlikely that they’d be able to hide a whole other weapon, especially since they were all laid out on the table for everyone to see. And as we’ve already seen, a lot of the weapons here have been heavily customized. So,” she took a deep breath, clearly very satisfied with the following conclusion: “Someone must have a weapon hidden _inside_ another weapon.”

            My eyes went wide. “You seriously think that’s possible?”

            “Sure,” she said. “I mean, I’ve got a chain scythe and Jacob has the world’s most complicated pocketknife. Bree has a freaking _halberd_! One of us having a concealed weapon isn’t that far out there.”

            Nikita touched my arm. I turned to see her staring at me with a dark, troubled expression. “I can think of only a few weapons in this prison capable of housing another one. One in particular stands out to me.”

            I nodded, very slowly, because I was thinking the exact same thing that she was. In order to have a blade hidden inside of it, the weapon in question would have to have a fairly thick handle, with the blade hidden in a location that was easily accessible and did not interfere with the rest of the weapon. There was really only one object in this prison that fit all of those requirements.

            I swallowed. “I think I know who the culprit is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in case it wasn't obvious, the investigation and the "trial" have been combined into a sort of solve-the-murder-as-we-go approach. I don't think anyone will be too offended by this change, as the first half of the trial was always the most tedious part for me to write, and I think it was a little tedious to read, too. Now we can jump straight to the big reveal and the climax inference in the next part! 
> 
> I've also, as it were, "simplified" the murder a bit. Although convoluted in its own right, this investigation wasn't nearly complex as the Dangan Ronpa norm. I did this out of necessity more than anything else, as the story refuses to be written any other way. (Plus, the murders are really nothing more than a formality in Re_dux. As you'll find out in the next part, the real story is hidden elsewhere.)
> 
> (Also, Malcolm's band is called [Filament Wire](http://punkrockinthestars.tumblr.com/post/115441569569/punkrockinthestars-whats-this-my-band). Check it.)


	6. 1.4 "This is a Story"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of Chapter 1!

Trial

            We started out walking across the prison, but within a few seconds I was running. Nikita stuck close behind me, her arms loose and staff at her side. About halfway across the hall I paused, shining my flashlight around at all the possible doors and paths. My heart was pounding in my chest. We didn’t have a lot of time left to find the culprit and get an admission out of him; I wanted to hurry, but I wasn’t sure where to go.

            “He just finished talking with Monobear, if the announcement was any indication,” Nikita murmured, glancing around with a similar sense of urgency.

            “Okay, okay,” I took a breath. “Where do you go to talk to Monobear?”

            “Somewhere private, where you won’t be interrupted,” she said. “Somewhere not related to the case.”

            “Library,” I said shortly, and then ran.

            When we approached the door in question we slowed, pushing it open as quietly as we could. It helped that the doors made no sound at all. I didn’t turn off my flashlight, but I lowered the beam, obscuring it with my hand so it wouldn’t alert anyone else in the room of our presence. It was pitch black—but I thought I’d heard the sound of a flashlight clicking off when we’d entered.

            I very slowly paced inside, Nikita taking up the rear. “Zach?” I called.

            For a moment, it seemed as though I wasn’t going to get a response. But then his voice crawled up from behind a bookshelf, to the right of the door. “Uh, hello,” he said. “Is that you, Mads?”

            “Yeah,” I said. I lifted my hand from the flashlight beam, casting it around in search of him. “What are you doing in the dark?”

            “Just… wanted to get away from everything for a while,” he murmured. “Wanted to go somewhere dark and quiet. You know, to be alone.”

            I turned the corner and the flashlight beam found him. He was sitting on the floor in a corner created by two bookshelves, his arms crossed over his knees. Nikita let out a long, soft breath behind me. “You were talking to Monobear, weren’t you?” I asked him.

            “No.” He stared. “Whatever would make you think that?”

            I felt my throat close up. “I know you killed him, Zach.”

            He was quiet for a long moment; a moment that seemed to stretch itself across the space between us, fragile and ready to shatter. Then he got to his feet. “I didn’t kill Malcolm,” he said softly.

            “Yes you _did_ ,” I snapped, resisting a wince. “Listen, just let us see your umbrella, okay? If you didn’t kill him, then we’ll be able to tell from that.”

            He took the umbrella from where it was hooked at his side and held it out. “I didn’t kill him.”

            Grimacing, I strode across the aisle and grabbed it from him. Nikita stayed close behind, watching him as I ran my hand along the umbrella’s handle and found a seam in the wood. I pulled on the handle—it came free, revealing a sharp, katana-style blade that perfectly matched the fatal wound. My grip tightened. “Do _not_ lie to me, Zach.”

            “I didn’t kill him,” he said, lowering his gaze. “He was already dead.”

            “ _What_?”

            He hesitated, mouth opening and closing as he searched for words that weren’t there. “This is what Monobear meant by… getting to ask the culprit questions. There’s all these things you don’t know, i-i-it’s—it’s not… it wouldn’t have mattered. I was just going through the motions. Even if I hadn’t killed Malcolm, he never would have gotten out. He was doomed. He was already dead.”

            “What the fuck are you talking about?” I growled.

            “There was a war…” he stopped himself, shaking his head. “I-I can’t explain, you just—need to see for yourself… I-I-I can’t—it would destroy you…”

            Nikita was staring at him, expression blank. My expression was far more critical. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re going on about, but I don’t want to hear any more of it. You fucking killed him, that’s the end of it. So what, you just wanted to get out? That was it? Why Malcolm?”

            “That’s not—” he took a breath. “It couldn’t have been anyone _but_ Malcolm. Just… you won’t understand it right now. It had to happen this way.”

             I was about to go off on him, and Nikita could tell. She put a hand on my shoulder and said levelly, “If answering questions will not work for you, Zachary, perhaps you should explain what happened.”

            He averted his gaze, eyebrows crinkled together in nervousness. “Okay.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _Relationships were like music. Complex and time-consuming, and only ever effective when done correctly. They needed a basis on which to start; a simple beat upon which one could build more. Trying to skip the basics and jump to the end always led to disaster. Malcolm wasn’t a particularly big fan of constructing silly analogies for things, but he felt that this one held true. He was, after all, an expert at music—or at the very least he liked to think of himself as one. And relating something complicated, like relationships, to something that he knew well, like music, always made it a little easier._

_Truth be told, he didn’t think he would be doing much socializing while he was in this prison. He didn’t trust himself to actually get anywhere—and anyway, they were all going to die, weren’t they? There was no point in getting to know his neighbors. It would just make things harder, in the end._

_He’d resolved that he wouldn’t be murdering anyone almost the moment that Monobear suggested the idea. He didn’t even think about it. It simply wasn’t going to happen, and that was the end of the discussion. He liked to pretend that this was because of some strong sense of moral obligation, but in reality he didn’t think he would be capable of killing someone even if he wanted to. In the end it felt better to just wait it out, even if the consequence of doing so was death._

_He also wasn’t expecting to get murdered._

_But even this felt natural once it began to happen. Scripted, even. Eerily clean and smooth, despite the bumps along the way. He felt like a robot: conscious and present but entirely controlled by an outside force, as though watching events from a distance. Strange._

_He expected to sleep on the first night. He’d already accepted his impending death at the end of the six days, so he’d resolved to not let it get to him. He would sleep. He would rest. He would enjoy his remaining days. He would not let Monobear destroy his psyche._

_Then there was a knock on the door. He answered it because that’s what you do when someone knocks on your door. You unlock it and you open it a few inches and you put your foot in the door so the person can’t push past you to get inside and then you try to look friendly and you say “Hello?” But no one was in the corridor. It was dark and empty._

_He waited a moment, but nothing happened. So he unclipped his flashlight and let the yellow beam cut through the darkness. Nothing there. He swept it back and forth, but couldn’t look around the corner with his door in the way. He stepped out into the corridor to get a better look._

_In theory, it had occurred to him that what he was doing was a little stupid. That, more than likely, the person in the corridor was waiting to kill him, and he was playing right into their plans. But that suspicion didn’t stop him from opening the door all the way and walking out into danger._

_Zach was in front of him in an instant. Startled, he dropped his flashlight; Zach swung out with a blade that Malcolm didn’t recognize and sliced through his shirt. He felt warm redness well against his skin. He stumbled back into his room, stifling a cry of pain._

_Things were moving very quickly in his head. He considered the openness of the corridor; the silence of the night. Zach’s initial attack had been fairly quiet, so it was unlikely that anyone had heard. He could scream if he wanted to. Someone was almost guaranteed to come running._

_He looked up to see Zach step into his cell. His attacker was shaking all over, the blade in his hand quivering in the low light. He could see now that the blade was attached to the base of his umbrella—some sort of hidden weapon. It had been clever of him to use it, and suggested determination on his part. But Malcolm could see only hesitation and fear written all over Zach’s face, betraying his indecision. He was unstable: if Malcolm screamed, then Zach would certainly go for the kill. But if he didn’t…_

_If he didn’t, he might be able to convince Zach to stop. He might be able to calm him down and get him to put the umbrella away. It was risky, and Malcolm knew it—but even a chance of success was enough to keep him silent. So, rather than scream, he retrieved his drumsticks from his pocket and held one in each hand, low at his sides._

_“Zach,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. “What are you doing?”_

_It was obvious by the look on his face that he hadn’t expected Malcolm to try talking. “I—I…” His expression cleared briefly, but then grew clouded with confusion as he couldn’t find anything to say. He suddenly and abruptly lunged forward, striking out with the umbrella’s blade._

_Malcolm quickly brought his drumsticks up in an X-shape to meet the blade—but he wasn’t quite fast enough.  The weapon had drawn a line of red down his middle before he could stop it. He choked on the sudden pain, bearing down and pushing up on his drumsticks to shove Zach off._

_“Knock it off!” he said, as loud as he dared. “You don’t have to do this, Zach. No one has to die.”_

_At this the designer shook his head, as though something was trapped in it. He placed his free hand against the side of his temple. “I don’t—you can’t… s-stop. Stop talking. You’re just making this harder.”_

_It occurred to Malcolm, as though from a great distance, that something was wrong with Zach. Something beyond the obvious. He was not of his right mind. In fact, it was possible that he didn’t even know what he was doing. This wasn’t right. Well, of course it wasn’t right that Zach was trying to kill him—but something_ more _than that wasn’t right._

_But Malcolm had had this realization far too late for it to be of any good to him. In the moment he had spent thinking, Zach had recovered—and he lunged at Malcolm full-force, swinging the blade left and right in an unstable frenzy._

_Malcolm blocked the blows as best he could, meeting every hit with his drumsticks, but couldn’t avoid receiving several more cuts along his stomach and chest. He grit his teeth and stayed silent every time, still clinging onto the hope that he could stop Zach. Desperately holding his ground, he tried to think of something to say—but in that moment Zach grew frustrated, losing his patience. Before Malcolm could figure out what was happening, the designer had ripped one of the drumsticks out of his hands and shoved him to the ground._

_He looked up in a daze, heading ringing as it hit the floor. His vision cleared just in time to see the stolen drumstick come down over his raised hand, piercing through flesh and pinning him to the ground, metal vibrating against his bones from the velocity. His other drumstick clattered to the floor He managed to stop the resulting scream, but a whimper of pain escaped him, his breath coming out hard and fast. He instinctively tried to get up, to move away from the pain, but this only made it worse as he strained against his pinned hand._

_Zach fell to his knees on top of him, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe normally. In the low lighting from Malcolm’s flashlight, he could see that Zach’s face shone with sweat and his hands shook with each movement, as though he were resisting himself. He studied Malcolm with too-wide eyes—and then he drove the umbrella’s blade down into Malcolm’s chest._

_Pain bloomed in every limb, his center feeling hot and cold at the same time, burning with warm blood and yet also going ice cold as his system entered shock. Time seemed to slow as Zach got to his feet and pulled the blade out. Malcolm’s voice choked and died in his throat as he began gagging on the air that refused to circulate through his lungs. His chest heaved up and then thumped back down against the ground, each thud like another blade going into his body. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to be afraid._

_He was remembering something._

_As the blood exited his body, memories rushed back to fill the empty spaces that had been left in him. She liked owls. God, she really loved owls. He was going to write a song about them, to make her happy, but he never got the chance. There was too much going on—what with the war…and the distance between them, always threatening to strangle him if it was stretched any thinner. He’d also wanted to write a song using some of her poems. That would have been nice. Her words always had such a good sense of pacing, perfect for music._

_Yeah, he was going to do all of that when they met up in person. It was hard to plan such a thing safely with all the death and carnage that had engulfed the world, but they’d managed it anyway. Zach had made sure that it would happen. So why couldn’t he remember those songs that he surely must have written? Why couldn’t he remember the conversations they’d had when they were finally together? Why was that image of her face as they hugged clouded by the agony of pain ripping through his middle?_

_The closer he came to death, the more he remembered. The more he realized. He couldn’t remember doing any of those things with her because he’d never gotten a chance to do them. He’d died before he could get the chance. He had never made it to the prison. He was already dead._

_Consciousness left him before he could start crying._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            Zach explained the events of the murder in a terse, almost sterile manner, his jaw clenched and eyes lowered the whole time. He spared us no detail, and the story definitely ended with him stabbing Malcolm. So what the fuck was this whole thing about him “already being dead”? I asked him the moment the story was finished.

            “It’s not…” He ran his hands over his face, struggling with his words. “It’s not something I can just… explain. You need to see for yourself.”

            “And how am I supposed to do that, huh?” I snapped.

            “I believe he is implying that you should murder someone,” Nikita intoned behind me. I spun around to see her looking at Zach, gaze level and unwavering. “Is that right?”

            Zach lowered his eyes, nodding.

            I held back a laugh that threatened to turn into a sob halfway through. “Yeah, and I guess I’ll just kill you, huh? How does that sound? If you want me to fucking kill someone, how about you—”

            Nikita placed her hand on my shoulder again. I struggled to still myself, taking a breath. Zach had shrunk away at my verbal attack, but he calmed when I did. “I’m sorry, I—you’ll understand later. I’m sorry.”

            “Honestly,” I said. “I want to ask you one more question, and then I never want to talk to you again. Do you hear me?”

            He nodded tersely.

            “Why the fuck did you tell Monobear you wanted to stay here?”

            His expression fell, as though he had been hoping the answer would be obvious. “Because,” he said. “I want to help. I know more about what’s going on here now, and I can help some of you guys get out. I—I promise I’m not your enemy. I honestly just want to help all of you.”

            I bit down on my tongue to keep myself from yelling at him. I couldn’t believe the way he was acting. He’d killed someone and he somehow thought he could redeem himself by sticking around to “help.” I was putting together a fittingly angry response when the speakers clicked on again.

            “Okay, your time’s up!” Monobear announced. “If you haven’t found the culprit by now, then I’m afraid you’re out of luck. I’ve gotta clean up Malcolm’s body, so everyone’s going to be quarantined to their cells for a while. Please head over to yours immediately. Thanks!”

            Zach’s gaze returned to mine as the speakers clicked off. He looked haunted and wracked with guilt. “I… I’m going to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

            “I said I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” I muttered.

            When he didn’t say anything, I huffed and stepped to the side. He quickly ran past us, away from the bookshelves and out of the library. Nikita’s stare made its way over to me. I looked up at her, glowering in the darkness. “What?”

            Her eyebrows lowered in a vague look of consternation. “Hmm… What he said is worrying.”

            “He’s probably just lying,” I growled. “None of what he said made sense, anyway. He was just making it up to try and get us to pity him. He’s an asshole and he killed Malcolm and he knows it.”

            “I suppose that outcome is possible,” she said slowly, and then looked away. “I am going to my cell. I will talk with you later, Madison.”

            She was gone before I could remind her to not call me that. I shook myself, trying to clear all the pent-up rage I was feeling after that conversation with Zach. I didn’t realize it was possible for a person to piss me off that much. I’d tried to be cool about it, but everything about his demeanor had been driving me insane. And now I was going to have to deal with it for the next five days.

            It occurred to me as I was walking back to my room that Nikita and I were the only ones who had discovered the identity of the culprit. Everyone else was still in the dark. Should I tell them? For a moment the obvious answer was yes—Zach more than deserved to have everyone pissed at him. But the more I thought about it, the more it occurred to me that revealing the truth could have bigger problems. What if someone tried to kill him? As pissed as I was, I didn’t want another body showing up, even if it _was_ Zach’s. If I wasn’t careful, this could end up descending into full-blown chaos.

            But… the evidence hadn’t been too difficult to sort through. It was possible that someone else had figured it out. And if that was the case, then I didn’t have much power in this situation. It was up to that person and whether or not they decided to reveal it.

            Or even worse… what if people began accusing other students based on hunches? The group could easily dissolve into factions if something like that started happening. Then we’d have a sort of prison war on our hands. I was going to have to find a way to make sure the situation was under control before anyone else could do anything drastic.

            I was so lost in thought, I almost didn’t notice that Momo’s door was open.          

            The beam of my flashlight highlighted the shadow between the door and its frame, making me pause. It had definitely been closed—and locked—every other time I’d walked by. Had someone somehow broken in? But why would they have then left the door hanging open like this, noticeable to anyone who walked by?

            I looked around, but there was nothing to see. Everyone had already returned to their cells. Was Monobear already cleaning up Malcolm’s body? If so, then the mastermind probably didn’t know I was here either. I shone the flashlight through the crack in the door, but it was pitch black. The light didn’t even seem to reach into the room. I swatted at the dark air to confirm that it wasn’t just a solid wall of darkness, and then carefully slipped inside, shutting the door behind me.

            For a moment, everything was total blackness. My flashlight seemed incapable of cutting through the dark, and a brief feeling of panic ate its way up my throat—but then, suddenly, everything became blindingly bright. I resisted the urge to cover my eyes, squinting and blinking as they struggled to adjust. When they did, I was stunned by what I saw.

            The door through which I’d entered Momo’s room was nowhere in sight. In fact, I hadn’t even entered a room at all. I was standing at the crest of a small green hill, grass and weeds brushing the sides of my boots. In the near distance a small metal barn was visible, and if the rust along its sides was any indication, it was probably abandoned. A dirt road ran along the side of the barn, cutting and weaving its way through short clutches of trees and long, winding patches of prairieland. It didn’t look like there were any other buildings in the immediate area—this place felt cut off and separate from the rest of the world.

            The sun was only just beginning to rise, so it must have been very early morning. Perhaps 5 AM. Even an overcast, unlit sky like this one was blinding after a month in dim half-darkness. The sky felt huge and vast and inhuman after so much time under closed roofs. I stood there, alone and struggling to get my breathing under control.

            At least, I thought I was alone. After a moment of taking in my surroundings I became aware of a presence behind me; I turned to see a girl standing a few feet off. She was shrouded entirely in black, her facial features obscured by a dark leather hood that appeared to be part of one of those vest jackets. I couldn’t tell for sure, though, because over it she had on a black woolen poncho with silver lining that stirred slightly in the light breeze. Her pants were tight and black; her boots were tight and leather. Her hands were gloved and tucked under the poncho, resting in the pockets of her vest. She stood there like that and stared at me, silent.

            “Wh-What—” I finally stammered out, because I couldn’t think of anything better.

            “Relax,” she said. “This is a simulation. You’re still in the prison.”

            I stared at her for a moment, aghast. “Who the fuck are _you_?”

            A smile lit up the visible parts of her face. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got something I want you to see.”

            Before I could respond she began walking, moving past me and towards the barn. Almost as if on cue, a service truck became visible in the distance, crawling its way up the road towards us, the heavy hum of its engine gradually growing louder. I hesitated for a moment, then jogged to catch up with the girl.

            “What’s going on?” I asked.

            She didn’t respond, nodding towards the truck. She set a quick pace down the hill to the barn—when we arrived she leaned against the worn and scratched metal and turned to watch the truck as it slowed to a stop in front of the barn’s entrance. The driver kept it on, lingering on the road as the passenger door opened and Zach stepped out, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

            “Zach—” I started to yell, but my voice died in my throat when the side door opened and Malcolm stepped out as well. And it seemed as though neither of them could hear me, as there was no reaction. I looked at the girl, now sufficiently perturbed. “What the fuck is going on?”

            She glanced my way. “Zach told you: Malcolm is already dead. Don’t you want to know how he really died?”

            “But… that can’t be possible. I saw his body. Zach told me how he killed him. He can’t have _already_ been dead.”

            “This is a story. Something from the past. You can’t start it with all the answers. I want you to watch, and you will learn.”

            “I don’t understand…”

            “That’s okay,” she said. I couldn’t tell whether her expression was serious or mischievous. “Just watch.”

            So I did.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _The air was warm and balmy and clung to Zach’s skin. It was easy to notice after so long driving in the service truck, most of the time with the windows down and the wind whipping his hair up in a frenzy. Much of the trip through Pennsylvania had consisted of nothing but farmland, so there was little threat of the truck getting ambushed. They’d been able to relax for a time, just being a part of the world. It was a rare experience in the midst of Junko’s war, and Zach had been happy to take advantage of it._

_He got out of the truck, stretching his legs as he swung his backpack on. Malcolm got out behind him, eyes carefully scanning the area. “This is the place?”_

_He nodded. “It’s the location Pam gave in the memo, at least. So I sure hope it’s the right place!”_

_“Okay,” Malcolm said, doing a very poor job of hiding the agitation on his face. Although at this point pretty adept with his umbrella, Zach didn’t like to think of himself as a fighter: rather, he imagined himself a caretaker. And Malcolm, who had spent most of the war so far alone, was definitely someone he wanted to care for._

_The vocalist was trying to meet up with his girlfriend, Pamela Riley. They’d been planning a meet-up for years, but those plans had been cancelled when Junko arrived and the war began. Still, Malcolm wasn’t one to give up easily—a trait of his that Zach admired. So when he heard about Malcolm’s plight over the secret online message boards he shared with his friends, he knew without a doubt that he would have to help. And anyway, he didn’t live that far from where Pam and her group were staying—so it only made sense for him to offer Malcolm some assistance._

_As Malcolm began walking towards the barn, Zach poked his head in the passenger door of the service truck. “Thank you so much, Kaylyn,” he told their driver. “We never would have made it this far without you.”_

_Kaylyn adjusted the hat on their head, seemingly hiding a blush. “I’m just happy to help. You guys sure you’ll be able to get out of here on your own?”_

_“I’m sure we’ll be fine now that we’re with Pam and her friends,” he assured them, smiling._

_“Alright, I’m off then,” they said, shifting the car into drive. “You two stay safe.”_

_“You as well.”_

_The car kicked up a steady cloud of dust as it chugged up the road and out of sight. Zach watched them go, but only for a moment—his main focus was Malcolm, after all. He turned to see him standing in front of the barn’s dark metal door, taking a few deep breaths. Zach trotted over._

_“Hey,” he told him. “You’ve got this. This is what you’ve been waiting for!”_

_Malcolm smiled. “I’m fine. Just needed a minute.” And then, without hesitation, he reached up and tapped out the secret knock that Pam had explained in the memo._

_There was a pause; a moment of silence as the two of them listened for any sound from within the building. And then the door swung open and Pam was standing there, beanie askew, eyes wide, hair frazzled; smile wide enough to crack her face in half. Malcolm cried out, but the sound was lost in her shoulder as he grabbed her, hugging her as tight as he could. Zach smiled, holding the door open. To him, a moment like this was worth all the gold in the world._

_A few seconds later Dani and Haley appeared in the doorway, their greetings drowned out by Malcolm’s laughter as he gripped onto Pam for dear life. It soon became clear that no one was going to be able to separate the two of them, so Dani suggested a walk along the perimeter of the barn to give them some space._

_Gradually, Zach could feel the tension from the past few weeks beginning to dissipate from his muscles. He had completed his goal of reuniting Pam and Malcolm. And Haley, Dani, and Pam seemed to have quite the efficient group—maybe he would be able to ride out the rest of the war with them in peace. He glanced skyward, studying the warbling shape of the sun in the hazy midday heat. It was a Saturday in the prime of summer: the air and earth were alive with heat and sound. He felt a part of it; a crucial cog in the world’s ever-turning cycle._

_“Did you and Malcolm make it here alright?” Haley asked at length, her hands loose in her hoodie pockets. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to find a ride.”_

_“It turned out just fine,” Zach assured her. “We met up with the person driving that service truck, Kaylyn. They were perfectly happy to take us. They said they were heading in this direction anyway.”_

_Dani and Haley briefly exchanged a glance. “We’ve been at this barn for the past few months now,” Dani said. “It’s been a stable base, and we have plenty of supplies. The Super High School Level Despair don’t know we’re here. If things stay that way, we could live out the rest of the war here.”_

_Zach frowned. “Is Junko’s army looking for you or something?”_

_Dani hesitated. “Well, it’s… when the war first started, the three of us were really wrecking shit. Setting off bombs at some base camps, sabotaging plans, that sort of thing. So the three of us are sort of high on their target list.”_

_“Do you think Junko herself would come after you?”_

_Haley shrugged. “I don’t think she has any war generals or assistants or anything like that. So maybe.”_

_“But no one knows where we are,” Dani added, seeing the concern on Zach’s face. “They literally have no idea. So as long as it stays that way, there shouldn’t be any problems.”_

_“Okay,” Zach said, offering them a smile._

_Later that night, the five of them gathered in the barn for dinner. Haley had given Zach a tour of the place—the kitchen had a gas stove that was thankfully still working, and an old computer was in one of the rooms upstairs. It wasn’t a very good machine for looking things up, so Pam’s group as a whole was fairly out-of-the-loop when it came to the war. Most news centers were beginning to shut down anyway, so there wasn’t much to worry about there. The computer had of course been steady enough to send their location to Zach and Malcolm across the message boards. The message boards which had conveniently appeared several months ago, near the start of the war, and could only be accessed by people that were in Zach and company’s old friend group from before the war: about 37 in total, though some names had disappeared off the roster recently._

_37 people, all of whom were fans of Dangan Ronpa, and had therefore known Junko’s story before she arrived here. Internet was becoming an increasingly rare find during the war, so it seemed strange that someone would set up a message board specifically for people who were online friends; specifically people who were Dangan Ronpa fans; specifically people who had known each other through Dangan Ronpa. It was a mystery that kept Zach up on some nights._

_The war was really only about eight months in. Although customized weapons and a lifestyle suited for potential fighting were things that were becoming more and more frequent, the world as a whole hadn’t yet adjusted into wartime. In fact there were still locations, like in the United Kingdom and parts of Russia, where fighting hadn’t even broken out yet. But Zach knew better than most that it was only a matter of time before Junko’s despair infected those regions as well._

_He tapped the handle of his umbrella at his side as he ate, comforted by its presence. The Super High School Level Despair were known for picking up unique or outlandish weapons, the most frequently-issued being a Taser sword. Having a customized weapon of his own was a good way to make a visual stand against his enemies—plus, it was nice to have something that only he knew how to operate. Malcolm had a pair of customized drumsticks to complete a similar purpose. Malcolm himself wasn’t much of a drummer—he greatly preferred singing—but Pam loved drumming, so the choice in weapon had been obvious to him._

_Zach glanced up. The two of them were sitting at the other end of the table, right next to each other, happiness apparent even as they sat there eating. Zach felt his heart warm. If there was any task worth completing during a war, it surely had to be this one._

_Dani had been in the midst of a conversation with Haley, but suddenly she paused, fork coming to a halt in front of her mouth. She went completely still, listening. After a moment Haley raised her head, putting her fork down and getting to her feet. Zach watched as she moved to the window and stared out of it with dark eyes—and then he heard it too. A car motor, coming down the road._

_He ran to the window and looked out, expecting to see an armored car with Super High School Level Despair pouring out the windows—but instead he saw a familiar service truck. “Kaylyn?” he said aloud. “I wonder what they're doing back here. I told them we wouldn’t need a ride or anything.”_

_They watched in silence as the car crawled to a halt in front of the barn. Zach could tell something was wrong, but he didn’t want to admit it to himself. After a moment the door opened, and the driver shoved a body out of their way, letting it collapse in the dirt in front of them—Kaylyn, dead, a gunshot wound visible in their chest. His breath hitched in his throat._

_The driver got out soon afterwards, kicking Kaylyn’s corpse out of their way. Zach couldn’t settle on a gender: they were small and lithe and agile-looking, wearing a dark brown muscle shirt, a jacket tied around their middle. Bandages were wrapped all up and down their arms and legs. A pair of sunglasses eclipsed a warm, amber-colored face, the hair on their head in tight and fluffy brown curls. A pair of white headphones were slung over their neck. One hand was equipped with a set of brass knuckles that shone in the low twilight, wicked sharp spikes visible along the edges and a knife extending from either side. Its twin was clipped to their belt, the free hand hoisting a grenade._

_They leaned on the side of the service truck, speaking in a bored tone—but loud enough so that the five of them in the house could hear. “Nice job getting this Kaylyn kid to drive you out here. I barely even had to threaten 'em before they started giving me all the details about your location! But they're dead now, so whatever. Anyway, here’s the deal. Either you guys open the door and come on out, or I lob this grenade through your window. I’ll give you a minute to decide.”_

_Pam had come to the window. “That’s Momo,” she said, voice low. “Momo Collins. They were on the message boards, but their name disappeared a few days ago.”_

_“I had talked with them sometimes before the war started,” Dani said from behind Zach. “They seemed nice. What the fuck are they doing here?”_

_“Junko got to them,” Haley said softly at my side. “It must be.”_

_“What are we going to do?” Zach turned to see Malcolm standing behind the dinner table, his drumsticks in his hands. “A-Are we just going to go out there?”_

_Dani and Haley exchanged a glance. “We don’t have a lot of weapons,” Haley admitted. “So it looks like we’ll have to go out there. We don’t have a way to defend ourselves otherwise.”_

_Before anyone could protest, Dani strode to the door and swung it open. Heart pounding, Zach followed her outside with the others, tightening his grip on his umbrella. A smile spread across Momo’s face as each of them appeared. They dropped the grenade back through the car window, looking satisfied._

_“Nice to see all of you,” they said. “_ Finally _. Junko’s been looking for Dani’s infamous party for months now. She’ll be happy to know that I managed to hunt you down.”_

_“Momo?” Dani said. “Is that you?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“Wh-What are you doing?” Pam asked. “You’re not Super High School Level Despair.”_

_“I am now,” they said._

_“But how—”_

_“Ugh,” Momo groaned. “Enough of the stupid fucking questions. It doesn’t matter what happened to me. It’s none of your business, okay? Honestly, I don’t care about your business either! My job is to take you to Junko, so that's all I’m going to do. Get in the truck.”_

_“No,” Malcolm said almost immediately._

_“You sure about that?” they asked him._

_“Yes,” he snapped. “I am finally with my girlfriend after_ months _of trying to meet up with her and I am not going to let you ruin it. It’s sad that you’re working with Junko, but… I don’t care how it happened. You’re going to leave.”_

_Pam blushed. Momo looked at her, smiling. “Aw, you’ve got a little admirer, huh?” They leaned forward. “Does he know about that bomb you set off Philadelphia that killed over five hundred Super High School Level Despair? Those had been innocent people, you know. Before Junko got here, at least. And you killed them without blinking an eye.”_

_“R-Really?” Malcolm said._

_“Oh yeah,” Momo said, lifting up one set of brass knuckles to study it. “Your little cutie pie here is one ruthless fuckin’ killer. Anything Dani says, she does it. No questions. Bomb a warehouse? Sure! Fire this bazooka your friends stole? Sure! Dani calls the shots around here, and your little girlfriend doesn’t have the backbone to say a word.”_

_“Shut the fuck up,” Dani snarled._

_“What, worried I’m gonna tarnish your reputation, princess? You’ve already dragged yourself through the mud. I didn’t have to say a word.”_

_Dani pulled a handgun from behind her back and aimed._

_Momo sneered. “Whatever.” They thumped the side of the truck with their free hand—and the back doors opened, a group of Super High School Level Despair emerging with weapons at the ready._

_“Either you get in the truck, or I make you,” Momo said flatly._

_Zach was trying to think of what to do. But before he could reach any sort of conclusion, Dani adjusted her aim and started firing._

_Chaos had broken out in an instant. Dani took out two of their attackers with her initial shots, but there were still plenty of enemies to contend with. Momo let out a hiss and ducked their head as Dani started shooting, running around to the back of the truck to follow the other Super High School Level Despair from behind. That was the last Zach saw of them for some time, though, because then the soldiers were upon him._

_He didn’t have time to think about the logistics of it. He drew his umbrella; extended it, shooting a dart into one man’s stomach. Someone was approaching from behind: he removed the sheath from his hidden blade and drove it into their middle; closed the umbrella, opened it to fire again. The velocity shot the hidden blade into one attacker’s stomach while another was taken out by the dart._

_This was fine. He could handle this. The problem was when the soldiers began to pull guns, firing into the melee. He ducked low, spinning around to try and figure out what was going on. He saw Dani getting grabbed by two soldiers, holding her in a death grip. He saw Pam and Malcolm, back to back and surrounded. Then he looked up and saw Haley, who hadn’t even drawn her weapon yet—she’d snuck towards the truck and retrieved the grenade from the front seat._

_“Hey fuckers!” she yelled. Several of the soldiers looked up just in time to see her pull the grenade’s pin and throw it back into the truck before running for her life._

_Zach didn’t have a chance to cry out. Right before the world was engulfed in flame and smoke, he saw Momo standing a few feet off from the truck, their eyes wide. Then the explosion went off and the air was deaf with flames._

_Luckily he’d already been crouching, so he wasn’t too far from the ground and was able to lay himself flat. He coughed, tears streaming from his eyes as he struggled to raise his head and see what was going on. He saw Momo slowly crawling to their feet from behind the truck’s debris. Much of their clothes were smoking or charred, but they otherwise looked undamaged. The soldiers hadn’t fared as well—many of them were dead, and those that weren’t were having trouble getting up._

_Looking in the other direction, he saw Haley running back to help Dani to her feet. Pam had already gotten up, and was checking on Malcolm. Everyone seemed to be relatively okay. But when Zach turned his head again he saw that Momo had grabbed one of their soldier’s guns and had it pointed at Pam._

_Zach screamed as the gunshot sounded through the air. Everything happened so fast that he wouldn’t have seen it if it weren’t for how closely he was watching: Pam turned in surprise. Malcolm, who had been facing towards Momo, saw what was happening. He was on his feet in an instant, just in time for the bullet to tear through his middle._

_Zach scrambled to his feet as Pam began screaming. He ran for Malcolm as Dani and Haley ran for Pam. Malcolm collapsed in his arms, blood seeping out of a gash in his side. Zach didn’t have the strength to lift him—he raised his head to ask Dani and Haley for help, but was horrified to see the two of them pulling Pam away from her boyfriend, grabbing her as they struggled to make a quick escape._

_“Help me!” he yelled. Dani glanced back at him. Then she picked up Pam and started running. Haley hesitated, but only for a shadow of a second before following._

_“Run,” Malcolm said. “Go with them. Leave me.”_

_The suggestion was so absurd that Zach didn’t even bother responding. He glanced back to see Momo still struggling to get to their feet—there was a long, bloody gash on their leg that he hadn’t seen before. Gathering as much energy as he possibly could, he hefted up Malcolm and began a slow, steady run in the opposite direction, behind the barn._

_He heard Momo growl in frustration behind him and picked up the pace, not daring to look back. With the car blown up and Momo injured, he had a good chance of getting away, but there were no promises. “You fucking idiot!” Malcolm heaved from his arms. “Just drop me and run!”_

_He said nothing, trying to preserve his energy. He’d gotten over the crest of one hill and into the fringes of a cornfield when his arms gave out and he fell to his knees. Malcolm struggled to get up, grunting, “I can run, sort of.”_

_They began a slow, unsteady trot through the cornfield, Malcolm’s arm over Zach’s shoulder for support. Zach was happy for the cover, but it didn’t assure them safety. He encouraged Malcolm to keep going, desperate to get somewhere safe._

_They were running for a good twenty minutes when Malcolm finally forced Zach to stop. “I can’t go anymore,” he heaved. “It hurts way too bad. I need to lie down.”_

_Zach nodded, guiding him over to what looked like a collapsed set of stables a few feet away. They were in an empty field, fringes of trees surrounding them on all sides. The cornfield had long since disappeared. He helped Malcolm lean against one decaying wall of wood in a patch of shade._

_As Malcolm struggled to get his breath back, Zach got to his feet, listening. The air was still—night was approaching. An owl hooted from a distant tree; stars became visible in the murky dusk. He couldn’t hear any sound of footsteps or attackers approaching. Maybe they were in the clear?_

_“I’m going to go scout around, see if I can figure out what’s going on,” he told Malcolm. “Maybe we’ll be able to get out of here quickly.”_

_“Okay,” Malcolm said, trying and failing to hide the wince in his voice. “Try not to go far.”_

_Zach set out with a light jog to what he hoped was the east, scanning the trees and terrain for anything of note. He’d been in movement for some time, the landscape relatively unchanging, when he suddenly heard the sound of movement up ahead. He crouched down behind a boulder to investigate—and was horrified to see a line of Super High School Level Despair patrolling around the trees. Heart pounding, he slowly traced the line of the troops to the north, discovering with a sense of dread that they did not let up or end. He backtracked and went in the other direction, but there was no change._

_As he began the trek back to Malcolm, he tried to piece these developments together. It seemed as though, rather than giving chase, Momo had called in more backup to surround them. He couldn’t help but marvel at the efficiency: they had probably been planning this raid on Dani’s team for some time, and had taken residence in the nearby towns while they tried to find the right location. Regardless, now escape was impossible. Either they gave themselves up, or they let themselves die in the middle of this field. It was certainly a despair-inducing situation—exactly the sort of thing that a member of Super High School Level Despair would jump at._

_Speaking of… was that what Momo was now? Had Junko somehow convinced them to join her side? It didn’t seem possible. Momo had been part of their old friend group, after all, and all of them had been very vocal about their hatred of Junko and her plans. How could one of them have changed so drastically in such a short period of time? It certainly seemed strange._

_When he returned, he was further dismayed to see that Malcolm wasn’t looking well, clutching at his injured stomach with his eyes half-closed. Zach immediately set to work, pulling off Malcolm’s jacket and taking a look at the wound._

_“What did you see?” Malcolm asked as he worked._

_The bullet was still embedded in his flesh—not good news—but the wound appeared to have missed any vital organs. “We’re surrounded,” he admitted. “I think they plan on waiting us out.”_

_“Shit. How much food do we have?”_

_Zach took off his backpack, taking the opportunity to search for any bandages as well. “Not a lot,” he said. “Maybe enough for a couple days?” It was all just snack food. Nothing good or helpful._

_Malcolm didn’t immediately say anything, watching as Zach pulled a torn piece of cloth from his bag and set to wrapping it around Malcolm’s middle. The wound needed cleaning, and the bullet removed, and disinfectant… but Zach didn’t have the means to do any of that. A bandage was the best he could manage._

_“What are we going to do?” Malcolm asked finally._

_Zach hesitated, remembering the look on Dani’s face as she turned and ran. “Let’s wait for now. Maybe help will come? Pam is still out there. Pam will want to help you.”_

_“Dani and Haley didn’t want to,” he said lowly._

_“They were worried about Pam,” Zach said. “They just wanted to keep her safe.”_

_He nodded. “I know. And I’m happy she’s safe, it just… it just sucks, is all.”_

_“Yeah,” he murmured back._

_They slept._

_On the morning of the first day, Zach woke up to the sound of Malcolm’s rattling breaths. He quickly shook his friend awake, worried. Malcolm began coughing as his eyes opened, voice raspy. “Water.”_

_They only had three water bottles. Zach siphoned as large of an amount as he would dare into Malcolm’s mouth; as he swallowed, his face cleared. “Better,” he said._

_Zach went out scouting again, desperately hoping against hope that he would find a clear path through the barricade of soldiers. But there was nothing. He walked around the whole perimeter and found not a single break._

_On the way back he stopped abruptly, lying down in the grass and holding back sobs. He hadn’t had time to think about it in the heat of the moment, but during that battle he’d killed three soldiers in a row without blinking an eye. He’d had to kill members of Super High School Level Despair before, but never that many at once. And he’d always tried to find a different way before he would resort to killing anyone. He couldn’t believe his own speed; his own bloodlust. Those people had been just like him before the war, and now they were dead. Because of him._

_It got cold at night. They both had brought jackets with them, so Zach doubled them up and wrapped them around his and Malcolm’s shoulders, huddling with him for warmth. It was a poor excuse for a blanket, and both of them continued to shiver regardless. But, Zach kept reminding himself, it was better than nothing._

_On the second day, Malcolm complained of the pain in his stomach getting worse. In Zach’s eyes, it seemed as though the bullet was like a flaming chunk of coal that had been placed in Malcolm’s middle, slowly burning through his body and his well-being. He wished for antibiotics. He wished for painkillers. He wished for fucking Neosporin. He suggested to Malcolm that they surrender—but the vocalist firmly shook his head._

_“No,” he said. “If they take me, who knows what will happen? They might do to me whatever they did to Momo. I can’t end up like that.”_

_Zach agreed that it wouldn’t be a pleasant fate. But was slowly wasting away out here much better? He wondered if he could call a parley… but such a thing didn’t exist among Junko’s soldiers. Every move on the chess board, whether pawn or queen, had to be a deadly one. There was no such thing as a truce._

_On the third day, they ran out of food._

_“Hey, Zach,” Malcolm asked, lying on his back and looking up at the sky. “Do you think Pam is okay?”_

_“Of course,” he said. “That’s what Dani and Haley were trying to do, was make sure she was safe.”_

_“No, I know,” he said. “That’s not what I meant. I mean… she was screaming. When I was shot. That’s the last time she saw me, all bloodied and being carried by you. Do you think she’s worried?”_

_Zach frowned. “Probably. I can’t imagine her_ not _being worried. But… hey, we’re gonna get out of here, okay? Help is going to come. I’m sure of it. The others wouldn’t just abandon us.”_

_Malcolm was quiet for a long moment. “You really trust them?”_

_“I have to,” he said._

_On the fourth day Zach woke up not to the sound of rasping, but to no sound at all. Malcolm was completely quiet. He scrambled over and held his ear over his mouth—after a moment he could hear the sound of slow, rickety breaths. He placed a hand on his forehead: Malcolm had a fever._

_They had less than a bottle of water left. Zach had planned on rationing it, but his friend clearly needed it more than he did. Over the day he slowly offered Malcolm water, insisting that he drink whenever he was capable. The frequent drinks did seem to help—but the fever wasn’t getting any better. If anything, it was getting worse. His cheeks and forehead burned like an oven and he could hardly move or talk._

_By nightfall, they were out of water. Zach propped Malcolm up in the corner of one stable and wrapped both of the jackets around him, hugging him for further warmth. He tried not to shiver too much throughout the night, worried it would disturb Malcolm’s rest._

_On the fifth day, Zach was awoken by Malcolm feebly nudging him with one hand. He opened his eyes to see that the vocalist was much more awake than he’d been yesterday—but his fever was higher than ever. Zach encouraged him to go back to sleep._

_“No,” he rasped. “I need to ask you something.”_

_“What?” Zach said, incapable of imagining what could be of such importance._

_He struggled to sit up, but couldn’t manage it and started talking anyway. “I have a favor to ask of you.”_

_“Whatever you need.”_

_He glanced down at the jackets around his middle; weakly pulled at a loose thread. “Zach, I’m going to die here.”_

_“No you’re not. Help is coming.”_

_“No, it isn’t,” Malcolm murmured. “I’m going to die. I want you… I want you to promise me something. I want you to promise that after I’m gone, you won’t give yourself up to Momo and their soldiers. You won’t let them capture you.”_

_“Malcolm…”_

_A bout of coughing overtook him, interrupting them both. Once he recovered, he plowed on: “You’re going to want to. You’re going to be alone and you’re not going to want to be here and you’re going to want to surrender to them. But don’t do it. Promise me. Promise me you’ll stay here and die.”_

_“Malcolm, I-I—”_

_“I don’t want to die alone, Zach,” he said, fighting back tears. “I don’t want to do this alone. And I don’t want them to get you. Or me. They don’t deserve us. They’re horrible. They don’t deserve to win like this.”_

_Zach swallowed down his own emotions. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay here and die with you. I promise.”_

_“Thank you,” Malcolm breathed, and then fell asleep._

_Zach went on another patrol of the perimeter, praying to whoever might be listening that he would find a way out. But the gods, if there were any, must have been on vacation, because there was no escape. He thought about setting up a campfire. Maybe the smoke would get someone’s attention, and they would come to help. But he didn’t know how to start a fire by hand, and didn’t have the means to do it otherwise. He returned to the stables, defeated._

_When he arrived, dusk was approaching. Malcolm was lying where Zach had left him, sleeping. He made to curl up next to Malcolm—but was horrified to discover that his friend’s breaths were irregular and shallow, with far too much space between each one. He gently shook Malcolm, trying to wake him, but there was no response. In a panic Zach pressed his ear to Malcolm’s chest, listening for a heartbeat: it was a terribly long moment before the sound could reach his ears._

_He tried to wake him again, but nothing would work. He could do nothing but sit there, ear against Malcolm’s chest, listening as the space between his heartbeats grew longer and longer, each one sending a jolt of fear through Zach’s system. Finally, there was no next heartbeat. The silence continued on forever. He was dead._

_Zach didn’t move for some time, praying that a heartbeat would come regardless. Praying that it was somehow just a fluke. Malcolm grew cold beneath him. When what had once been his friend began to feel as cold as stone, Zach finally lifted his head and moved away. He slept at the other end of the stables, trying not to cry._

_On the sixth day, Zach awoke to discover that Malcolm’s body was covered in little insects. He grabbed one of his jackets and tried to beat them off, but almost immediately stopped: instead, he started screaming. It was the loudest sound he’d made in the last six days. Maybe the loudest sound he’d ever made in his life. He screamed and screamed and screamed until his voice cracked and started skipping like a record when it reaches the end. Then he walked a little ways out into the field and began digging a grave with his hands in the soft, churned soil._

_He didn’t have any of the appropriate tools for digging, so the task took most of the day. As he dug he tried to figure out why this was happening. He had reunited Malcolm and his girlfriend, hadn’t he? He had completed his task; done what he’d set out to do. What had led him here, to this stable, this grave? What wrong had he committed that had brought him to this low of a place in the world? This wasn’t what he’d wanted. Not for him, not for Malcolm. Not for anyone._

_As night began to approach, he fancied he could see the shape of foxes flicking through the trees, waiting for him to turn away from Malcolm’s body so they could feast. The shadowy clouds in the sky looked like vultures circling overhead. Any light through the trees was a pair of raven’s eyes, gleaming in the darkness. He dug faster._

_Finally, the hole was deep enough. He tucked one of the jackets under Malcolm’s body and used it to drag him out to the makeshift grave, pushing him into it as gently as he could. The jacket fell down with him; Zach considered retrieving it, but didn’t think it worth the effort. And anyway, it was probably covered in those horrible little bugs now._

_Pushing the dirt back into the hole took considerably less effort. He wanted to say something, but it was late and he was cold and afraid. And what was he going to say? There was no one to hear him, anyway. Not so much as a single cow out to pasture. Nothing was here. The only living thing in miles was an army that meant to destroy him even worse than Malcolm’s death had: they would listen to no eulogy. They would only kill and destroy and rape and pillage as they had from the beginning, ruining his life and countless others. There was nothing here for him anymore._

_He considered gutting himself right then and there with one of the darts from his umbrella—it wouldn’t have taken much effort at all—but stopped himself at the realization that there was no one around to dig him his own grave. He resolved to dig a second one in the morning, then kill himself by nightfall. Then he would have kept his promise. Malcolm wouldn’t have to be alone._

_On the seventh day, a helicopter hovered overhead._

_At first Zach thought it was merely an illusion—a dream his shattered subconscious had pulled up as a form of comfort. But then a rope ladder descended from its lip and a familiar face poked his head out from within. Zach would have cried out Jason’s name if it weren’t for how shattered his voice was._

_The ladder landed a few feet away from Zach. He stared at it as if it were a snake circling in the grass. He didn’t know what to do. A few minutes went by in this fashion before Jason descended the ladder himself, quickly running over to Zach’s side. “Zach, what are you doing?” he asked. Zach hadn’t heard his voice in a long time, and couldn’t think of anything to say. “We need to get you out of here! You realize you’re surrounded by Super High School Level Despair, right?”_

_Zach nodded._

_“Then c’mon!” He pointed up at the helicopter. “Dani called in telling me you guys might be in danger. Her team only just managed to get to safety!”_

_“Where did you get a helicopter?” he asked._

_“Haven’t you read the recent memos? I’m working for the government now. I’m going to help them sort out this whole stupid war in the cool political way. And the first step is getting you guys the fuck out of here. Er—where’s Malcolm?”_

_He glanced down. His expression spoke volumes. Jason was quiet, but only for a moment. “Well… it’s alright. I’m gonna save you, okay? You can tell me about what happened later, if you want to. For now let’s just get somewhere safe.”_

_Zach didn’t know what to say. That he couldn’t? That he’d promised his life as forfeit? That Malcolm’s dying wish had been for Zach to die with him? That all he could think about was Malcolm, alone in some black and nondescript void, abandoned by the so-called friend who had promised to join him? Jason would never accept it. He would force Zach onto the helicopter before ever accepting anything like that. Zach had no choice._

_So he started climbing the ladder._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            I watched the helicopter fly away in a stunned silence, horrified by everything I’d just seen. As the sound of its motor faded, so too did the sounds of birds chirping and wind blowing across the grass. Before long the entire world had gone silent. I turned to look at the girl beside me, her hood still pulled tight over her face.

            “Why the fuck,” I said. “Would you show me something so horrible?”

            “You said you wanted answers, didn’t you?” she said. “This, you may find, is one of your best ways to get them.”

            I stood up. “But what the fuck is… _this_? A simulation, you said? What’s that supposed to mean? You said this was how Malcolm really died, so is this something that happened in the past? There was a war going on? Who was this Momo person, anyway? What does any of it mean?”

            She smiled in what seemed like a sad way. “I can’t give you all the answers. The more you see of the story, the more you’ll understand.”

            “Then show me more,” I snapped, frustrated.

            “We don’t have the time right now,” she said, also standing up. “The mastermind will notice that you’re missing. So for now, you have to go back.”

            “But—hang on!” I yelled. “You can’t just throw that shit at me and then leave. That’s such a dick move!”

            Her smile returned. “I’m not leaving,” she said. “You are.”

            Like someone had flicked a light switch, I was suddenly drowned in blackness. The total lack of light was near-suffocating. As the seconds stretched on my heart started pounding out of fear—but then a sliver of light appeared as a door opened. I quickly ran out of there, the door closing of its own accord behind me. I spun around to find myself once again outside of Momo’s room, in the dark nighttime corridor of the prison. Trying the door revealed that it was once again locked—apparently I wasn’t allowed back in there right now.

            I stepped back, grabbing my flashlight and turning it on as I struggled to make sense of everything I’d just seen. So Zach… hadn’t been lying? Malcolm really had already been dead? Then how did he end up in this prison? It wasn’t possible. He was already dead, so there was no way that he could have been here with the rest of us. And yet, I’d personally seen him and talked to him. Hell, I’d investigated his murder. I hadn’t imagined any of that, so how could it be that Malcolm was already dead?

            And then… this Momo person, who had attacked Malcolm and Zach. Why did they have a door in this prison? And who were Haley and Dani? And Pam… that must have been the girlfriend that Monobear had mentioned. What had happened to her and her friends? Were they okay? Furthermore, who was Junko? Why did she start this war? What about this girl that had shown me all of these things in the first place? The questions just kept adding up, and there were no answers in sight. I shook my head, trying to clear something that wasn’t there.

            At that moment, Aaron rounded the corner, coming from the hallway that led to the other cells. He started in surprise at my presence. “Oh, hey Mads. I was looking for you, but you weren’t in your cell. Where did you go?”

            I stared at him. “I, uh… I was… I was just looking around. Investigating, you know.”

            He narrowed his eyes. “Uh. Okay. Well, we’re having a meeting in the cafeteria. AJ thinks she’s figured out who the murderer is.”

            “What? Seriously?”

            He shrugged. “That’s what she says, anyway. Come on.”

            He turned towards the cafeteria and I followed, heart in my mouth. If AJ really had figured it out, well… there was no way to say what would happen next. Everyone could turn on Zach. More people could possibly die. I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. I just wanted to get out of here—but that, of course, involved hurting someone. My head spun at the chaos of everything that was happening.

            And to think it was still just the first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At 36 pages and over 11 thousand words, I'm pretty sure this is the longest update in Re:kin_dux history. So, uh, congratulations to me, I guess?
> 
> I decided to keep the title of "Trial" for this chapter, despite it not being an official trial. I did this because it's still... sort of a trial. An emotional trial, in a sense.
> 
> You might have noticed that there were two "climax inferences." That will be a continuing trend. In fact, it seems likely at this point that I'll be going to every single character's POV at least once!
> 
> And yes, Malcolm and Pam are in fact dating each other in the real world. They've been at it for a while, actually. They're awfully cute together. 
> 
> Kaylyn is one of a handful of members in the group who didn't become an "official" character in the story. So I wrote in a little death/cameo for them. This is the first of what I hope will be many Bonus Kills that I will conduct over the course of the pre-despair portion of this story. 
> 
> Hell, let's go back to the Piratestuck days and keep a counter for it. 
> 
> BONUS KILLS  
> THIS UPDATE: 1  
> TOTAL: 1


	7. 2.1 "Like a Liar"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginning of Chapter 2!

CHAPTER TWO: Empathy Module Not Responding

(Ab)normal Days Part 1

            When I entered the cafeteria, the first thing I immediately noticed was the numbers on the timer. It read 120.17.09—we were mere minutes away from the start of the second day. I was relieved that the lights would finally be turning on again, but also nervous at the idea that an entire day had gone by. Despite everything that had happened in that time, we’d actually accomplished very little: it was a sobering thought.

            Everyone else was already here—they were sitting in a rough circle on and around some of the cafeteria tables. Some people sat close together, while others kept their distance. It was encouraging to see that there was still socialization going on, despite the recent murder. But Zach, I noticed, was keeping to himself, sitting somewhat away from the others. When I entered he raised his head, but quickly lowered it again.

            Loathe to get anywhere near him, I took a seat next to Nikita. It really wasn’t much of a step up, considering how weirdly she acted, but at least she wasn’t a murderer. Aaron sat down next to me—the moment he had, AJ got to her feet, standing on top of one of the tables and waving for everyone to be quiet.

            The limited noise died down quickly. AJ took a deep breath. “Okay, here’s the deal!” she said. “I’ve talked with most of you, and it looks like none of us had enough time to solve the murder. If there _is_ anyone who figured it out, now would be the time to tell us.”

            People started shaking their heads. Zach’s eyes flicked towards me and then down again. I glanced at Nikita to see that she wasn’t saying anything, gaze lowered towards me as if trying to tell me that it was my decision. I huffed. “Nope, looks like no one’s figured it out,” I lied.

            AJ nodded. “Well, obviously I haven’t figured it out either. But I have a hunch. So if you guys are willing to hear me out, I wanna share it.”

            A few of the others exchanged glances, then began responding in the affirmative. I felt my jaw tense. What sort of hunch could she possibly have? Would the others turn on the person that she was suspicious of? Part of me wanted to stop her—but if I did, then everyone would become suspicious of _me_.

            She lowered her eyes, as though preparing herself, and then cast her gaze across all fourteen of us. “One of us has been acting strange this whole time,” she said. “One of us has been way too friendly, way too helpful, and _way_ too unpredictable. I’m talking about a person who’s offering to make breakfast one minute, and then ‘accidentally’ trying to shoot someone the next.”

            “Zach?” Laura said, sounding surprised. My heart thudded.

            AJ nodded grimly. “I know it sounds like kind of a weird suggestion. But when you think about it, it adds up. He’s been acting totally weird and bipolar ever since this shit started.”

            Slowly, people were turning to glance Zach’s way. His eyes went wide. “I-I-I—no! I didn’t try to kill Mads. I didn’t know what the umbrella was going to do. That was an accident, I swear!”

            He wasn’t lying. Not yet, at least. AJ made a face. “Sure, you can say that, but it’s just your word. How do we know for sure?”

            He hesitated, gaze flicking towards me. Everyone followed suit. After a moment, I sighed. “Yeah, guys, it was an accident. He wasn’t actually trying to kill me.”

            “That’s not good enough,” AJ growled. “What about how nice he’s been acting? All sugary and shit, like he’s everyone’s best friend. Why would he do that unless he had something to hide?”

            “Maybe he’s actually just a nice person?” I said, a little miffed.

            “Yeah, right,” she said. “We’re in a fuckin’ prison. No one just acts like that because they want to.”

            I huffed. I couldn’t believe I’d been roped into _defending_ Zach. “You can’t accuse someone of murder just because they happened to be in a better mood than you. You’re kind of being an asshole right now.”

            “Fuck off,” she said, turning her attention towards the others with a sigh. “Listen guys, I’m not fucking around here.”

            It was clear by Isabelle’s expression that she had some doubts. “What about the weapon? His umbrella dealie doesn’t match the wound that Malcolm had.”

            “Alright, that I’m not sure about,” she conceded. “But no one else’s weapon matches! Honestly it all sounds like a dead evidence trail if you ask me.”

            Aaron was frowning, and had been since this conversation had started. “We can’t just accuse him based on the fact that we don’t have anyone else to accuse. That’s not evidence.”

            AJ ran a hand across her face. “Look… Okay, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he didn’t murder anyone. But his behavior is definitely suspicious. Even if he didn’t murder Malcolm, there must be _something_ he’s hiding. I’m sure of it.”

            Ash’s eyebrows were knit together in concern. “But… what are we supposed to do? Quarantine him, or something? That doesn’t seem very fair.”

            “G-Guys, please,” Zach said, standing up, his hands raised. “I promise you I’m not a bad person. I’m just trying to help out here. I didn’t… I didn’t murder anyone.”

            Jack was suddenly on his feet as well. “Shut up! We can’t trust anything you say. You’re the suspicious party, so just keep your mouth shut.”

            Dismay filled Zach’s eyes. “Please, Jack, you’ve got to believe me. I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

            Color rushed to his face. “I said _shut up!_ I know what you did to Malcolm and I’ll fucking kill you for it!”

            “My good man,” Kayla spoke up, tone unexpectedly serious. “Please cease this abhorrent shouting. I understand your frustration in regards to Zach, but there is no need to begin threatening him. Especially”—and at this she narrowed her eyes—“when that threat would make you suspicious, as well.”

            Jack lowered his gaze, hiding a wince. “Whatever,” he muttered as he sat back down. “I know a guilty person when I see one.”

            “Jesus,” Aaron muttered under his breath, his disapproval apparent. He then spoke up: “Hey, guys, I know we’re all really hung up about Malcolm’s death. I am too. We really want someone to blame here. But just pointing our fingers left and right isn’t going to help anyone.”

            AJ shot a glare at Aaron, clearly eager to get her audience back under control. “I’m not saying we need to quarantine Zach or start treating him like an animal or something,” she muttered. “Let’s just… you know, consider everything we’ve seen so far. No one can deny that Zach is suspicious.”

            The others murmured amongst themselves, nodding—some reluctantly.

            “So, just—” She took a breath. “I’m not mad or anything, okay? I just want to know the truth. So if there’s something you need to tell us, Zach, now is the time to do it.”

            He looked up at her, expression far more serious than I’d thought he was capable of. “I did not kill anyone,” he said. Despite myself, I suppressed a shiver.

            “Okay,” AJ said. “Then it’s fine. Meeting over.”

            She hopped down from the table. I released the tension in my shoulders that I hadn’t realized I’d been holding—but just by glancing around I could tell that the issue wasn’t solved. Several of the students looked annoyed or uncomfortable, and were shooting unpleasant looks in Zach’s direction. Regardless of what AJ said, the damage had been done: everyone was suspicious of Zach now.

            Just as I was thinking about what this could mean for the future, the lights in the cafeteria suddenly turned on. I looked up to see that the timer was now on the 120th hour—we had officially started the second day. I turned off my flashlight, eyes quickly adjusting to the dim daytime lighting.

            Along with the lights, the speakers also clicked on, Monobear’s voice soon following. “Hey everyone! I’ve now granted you access to a new wing of the prison. I thought it might work as, you know, some extra incentive to start murdering. So have fun exploring, okay?”

            I slowly got to my feet, glancing around the cafeteria. Everyone was once again splitting into groups, probably planning on exploring the new area. I saw a few people going off on their own, but for the most part everyone seemed to be utilizing one another. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Or maybe the only reason they were being friendly was so that they would have some protection if someone tried to murder them. It was hard to say.

            I was about to leave myself, but then I saw Ari standing off to the side of the cafeteria, studying a plastic black bin on a small table that hadn’t been there before. I walked over. “Hey, what’s this?”

            “A bin,” she said, a little unhelpfully, and then reached in and pulled out Malcolm’s flashlight. “I think this is where the flashlights are supposed to go when a student leaves.”

            I frowned. “Why would we need the dead students’ flashlights?”

            She shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe in case one of us loses ours? Regardless, this is where they’re going.”

            I considered it, eyebrows lowering in thought. This had to have been something Monobear had set up—so why? Was there some purpose for the flashlights beyond the obvious? It seemed pretty unlikely. Maybe I was just looking into it too much. Maybe the flashlights were just here for emergencies.

            Sighing, I turned to head into the new prison wing—only to find Nikita once again blocking my path. “Hey,” I said. “Uh, good morning.”

            Her eyes flicked up to the lights above us. “Good morning. I heard from Aaron that he could not find you in your cell earlier.”

            “Oh, yeah,” I shrugged, trying to act indifferent about it. “I snuck out so I could investigate the prison some more.”

            “Did you discover anything of use?” she asked.

            “Well, not exactly—hey, you were talking with Aaron? That’s good.”

            Her expression didn’t waver. “No. I overheard him talking to Laura.”

            “Oh.” I swallowed. “Well you haven’t been talking to a lot of people, so maybe you should do that more.”

            She was quiet for a moment. “I would like to accompany you on your investigation of this new area.”

            I had to resist the urge to sigh. “Again? Are you sure you don’t want to hang out with anyone else? I mean,” I quickly added, “I’m not trying to be an asshole about it. It’s fine if you want to come. It’s just… I’m starting to worry that I’m the only person you’ve hung out with.”

            “You are,” she said.

            “I—” I shook my head. “Seriously? Okay, you need to start talking with some of the others students here. Honestly. People are gonna think you’re suspicious if you don’t, and then they’ll start suspecting you like they did with Zach.”

            “But Zachary murdered someone,” she said flatly. “I have not.”

            “Be quiet!” I hissed, despite the fact that she had murmured it just like she did with everything else. I let out a long sigh. “I don’t want anyone to know that we got a confession out of him.”

            “I gathered that from your behavior during AJ’s meeting,” she said, one eyebrow half-raising in what seemed like a look of curiosity. “Regardless, this conversation is doing little to help us right now. May we proceed to the new wing?”

            “Fine,” I said. “But you need to talk to someone else once we get there. You know, introduce yourself? Have a conversation?”

            “Very well,” she said, expression vaguely suggesting disinterest.

            I was a little annoyed that Nikita’s social life was somehow becoming my pet project, but the alternative was letting her lurk around me for the next five days and I really wasn’t sure if I was up for that. I led the way out of the cafeteria and around the corner to the door that had been locked before. Now it opened easily, the hinges silent as they swung open.

            On the other side was another long, wide hallway, made of the same uniform concrete as everything else in this place. There were four doors, two on each side of the hall, and a passageway on the far wall leading into another small-looking area. I was a little disappointed—I’d been hoping for something different—but at least we had some new areas to explore.

            I silently led the way to the first door on the right. Opening it revealed another concrete-walled room—but this one had a gray carpeted floor, unlike the rest of the prison. It immediately became clear that the purpose of this room was for working out. There was a row of weight machines to my right, two treadmills along the far wall, and two bikes to my left. There was a table with water and rags nearby. The air smelled oddly sterile.

            “Interesting,” Nikita murmured behind me. “Appropriate for a prison.”

            “I guess,” I said, still looking around. I saw Ash to my right, inspecting one of the bikes. “Alright, here we go, this is perfect. Ash is nice. Go talk to Ash.”

            She nodded once in the affirmative. “And what should we talk about?”

            I shrugged. “Whatever you want. Ask them how they’re feeling. Ask them what they had for breakfast. Just whatever.”

            “That does not seem very productive,” she said.

            “Then ask them something productive!” I said, sighing. “It doesn’t matter. Just go talk to them.”

            At this, her eyebrows creased. “I do not want to bother them. It does not seem appropriate to engage someone in conversation unless there is a reason for doing so. It is time-consuming and wasteful if there is not a purpose for it.”

            “So, what?” I said, making a face. “Before you got to this prison did you just stay silent unless you felt you had a reason to talk? You only ever spoke if you had something important to say or if someone talked to you first?”

            “Yes,” she said, clearly failing to realize the problem.

            I took a long, deep breath. “Okay. Right now you’re just going to have a normal, possibly boring conversation with Ash. It’s not going to necessarily mean anything. But that’s fine, alright? It doesn’t need to.”

            She glanced away, expression a little restless. “If you insist. But we will continue with our exploration of this new location once I am done, yes?”

            “Yeah,” I said. “Just talk to Ash first.”

            She nodded once, then stepped past me to walk over to Ash. I leaned against the wall and pulled out my ElectroID to fiddle with it, trying to pretend like I wasn’t listening.

            “Hello,” Nikita said. Ash spun around to face her, a little surprised, as Nikita hadn’t made any noise when she’d walked up. They ran a hand through their hair, expression quickly clearing.

            “Oh, hey,” they said. “Nikita, right? My name’s Ash. Though you probably already knew that, haha.”

            “Yes,” she said. “I was with Madison when they introduced themselves to everyone. I am already familiar with everyone’s names.”

            “Well that’s good,” Ash said. “So what do you think of the new area so far? Have you found anything interesting?”

            Nikita frowned. “I have only just begun exploring. I am accompanying Madison, and they wished for me to talk with you before we proceed.”

            I tried not to grimace as Ash peered in my direction, expression questioning. “And uh, why is that?”

            “They believe that it would be beneficial for me to talk to the other students directly,” she explained.

            They looked a little confused. “You mean you haven’t been doing that already?”

            “No,” she said. “I have been shadowing Madison.”

            “Oh, okay,” Ash looked away from me, seemingly catching on to the problem. “Well I could show you around this room, if you’d like. There’s a lot of cool equipment in here!”

            “I see,” she said. “Very well.”

            Relieved at the discovery that Nikita might have actually found someone else to hang out with, I turned to slip out of the room—but was intercepted by Kayla, who had been standing nearby. “Oh—hey,” I said, a little taken aback. “I didn’t see you there.”

            “I am impervious to many things,” she said. “Most notably the human race’s weak sense of vision.”

            “Right, sure,” I muttered. “So, uh, where’s your sister? You two usually stick around each other.”

            “Usually, yes,” she said. “But today we decided to kick it alone. We gotta mix it up, you know? If we stick together all the time, people might begin to think that we’re incapable of operating independently of one another. And then they would underestimate us. Which, I must inform you, would be an exceptionally dangerous thing to do.”

            I frowned. “O… kay? Good to know, I guess.”

            She seemed a little disappointed at my response, but didn’t press it. “Is there anything worth note in this exercise room, or do you think I could just move on?”

            “ _I’m_ going to move on,” I said, shrugging. “It’s just a room with some exercise equipment.”

            “Good to know,” she said, smile mischievous. “Thank you for your assistance, Mads.”

            “Right,” I watched as she walked off, trying to not to make a face. That kid was weird as hell. As she slipped through the door and out of the room, Ari came in behind her, looking around with a seemingly satisfied expression. I walked over, effectively moving myself closer to the door.

            “Hey,” Ari said, trying and seemingly failing at an upbeat attitude. “So this is some kind of workout room? That’s pretty cool. I might actually use this place.”

            “It doesn’t really matter much if we’re all going to die,” I muttered, surprising myself.

            “Well—I guess not,” she looked taken aback. “But still, you know… It’s good to stay fit. I guess.”

            I rubbed at my face, sighing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. I didn’t get any sleep last night, and I’m in a bit of a mood. There’s just… so much shit going on.”

            “No, I understand,” she said hurriedly. “What with Malcolm dying, and AJ accusing Zach, and this new area, and a lack of sleep, and the fact that we’re probably going to die… Jeez, if I had to handle anything more than that I would probably snap right here and now! It’s more than enough as it is.”

            I refrained from mentioning the fact that I’d also been visited by a mysterious hooded figure who had shown me the real way in which Malcolm had died, in an event in the past. That was just another thing on my plate. Going batshit insane was starting to sound like a pretty good idea at this point. “Thanks for understanding,” I said. “You’re right, though. This might be a nice facility to use. To pass the time, or whatever.”

            “Yeah,” she said, but her expression had fallen dramatically. “Anyway, I’ll see you around.”

            Figuring that it was more or less my duty to solve social problems at this point, I put a hand up to stop her. “Hang on. Is something wrong? I hope I’m not pissing you off or anything.”

            “No, it’s just…” Ari rubbed at her neck. “It has nothing to do with you, actually. See… I haven’t mentioned it yet, but I’m actually trans. And I mean, I’m okay with female pronouns. It’s not that big of a deal, I guess. But I _do_ like the gender neutral ones more. So I guess I’ve just been getting pretty uncomfortable over the past 24 hours. And it’s starting to get to me. That’s all.”

            I shook my head. “Dude, what the fuck. You should have said something.”

            She— _they_ —shrugged stiffly. “I know but… I guess I’m just not confident about it. You and Ash seem really confident about your whole deal, but I’m just… not there yet, I guess.”

            “Well, we’ll get you there,” I said flatly. “From now on, you’re ‘they’ in my book. Got that?”

            They seemed to brighten somewhat. “Got it. Thank you, Mads.”

            Ari quickly strode off before the conversation could go anywhere else. Finally I was ready to get the hell out of there—but it seems I’d taken too long. Before I could make it to the door, Nikita wandered over to stand in front of me. Suppressing a groan, I said, “Hey. Did you finish talking to Ash?”

            She nodded once. “I am ready to continue investigating the new area.”

            “Okay,” I said, keeping the bitterness out of my voice. “Let’s go then.”

            We headed out the door, back into the hallway, and then down to the second door on the right. All four of them were uniform and identical, looking just like the doors in the other parts of the prison. Opening this one revealed a large, relatively high-ceiling room that was mostly dominated by the presence of a rectangular pool in its center. On the far side of the room was a circular Jacuzzi. Dressing rooms could be seen on the far wall.

            I walked inside, Nikita following behind. As I got closer, I could see that two people were sitting in the Jacuzzi, with swimsuits and everything—it was Aaron and Natasha.

            “Hey guys,” I said as I got closer. “Where’d you get the swimsuits?”

            “In the dressing rooms,” Aaron said over the jets, pointing. “There’s one for everyone.”

            “That was nice of Monobear,” I observed.

            Natasha seemed to be resisting the urge to grimace. “I suppose that’s one way to look at it. Or perhaps he is trying to get us more comfortable, so that we’ll be more likely to kill.”

            “Hey man, you’re the one who wanted to get into the Jacuzzi,” Aaron pointed out.

            “I know, I know,” she said. “What can I say? I’m tired. That doesn’t mean I can’t be annoyed by that creature’s gesture.”

            “Fair enough,” he said.

            “Is there anything else around here?” I asked.

            “Not anything interesting,” Natasha murmured. “Just the pool, Jacuzzi, and dressing rooms.”

            “Though one thing _I_ found interesting was the ceiling,” Aaron said, nodding towards it. I looked up to see that the ceiling was dotted with ventilation grates in various places.

            “Weird,” I said. “Is that so the steam doesn’t get trapped in here?”

            “I would assume so,” he responded with a shrug. “But if the grates are on the ceiling… well, that means we might be underground.”

            At this, Natasha’s gaze flicked over to him. “I believe Jacob has already confirmed that theory to be true. He found something in one of the other rooms.”

            “I’d better go talk to him, then,” I said.

            “Good luck,” Aaron called as I walked off.

            Once I was out of the pool room, I made my way across the hall to the doors on the left side. The first one, across from the pool, was considerably smaller—the washing machines, dryers, and racks for hanging clothes quickly revealed it to be a laundry room. As usual everything was cool and featureless stone, but the presence of all the machines in there helped make it look a bit less dull.

            I slipped to one side of the room, past a table that had a few folded clothes on it, to where Laura was standing, folding her way through a shirt. I watched her for a moment before speaking. “Jumping on the laundry already?”

            She shrugged. “If the facility’s available, I’m gonna use it. I don’t like wearing dirty clothes, bruh.”

            I grinned. “Me neither. So everything here works?”

            “So far,” she said, pausing to glance at one of the dryers behind her. “And no quarters needed or anything. You just come in here and turn the machine on.”

            “That _is_ pretty nice,” I said. “Shame we’ve gotta be stuck in a murder prison at the same time.”

            Her expression was an odd mixture of morbid and indifferent. “Five days isn’t that long. It’ll all be over soon.”

            “That’s… dark,” I said with a light laugh. Everyone’s mood had really dropped since Malcolm’s death, it seemed.

            “Yeah, I guess,” Laura murmured. “Just being honest.”

            “Hey, well—we’ll figure something out,” I said. I didn’t sound very convincing, though. When she didn’t respond, I quickly and uncomfortably side-stepped her to head further into the room.

            AJ was leaning on a counter in the far corner of the laundry room, poking at her sheathed rapier as it rolled back and forth on the table. It really was an impressive weapon—the thin, elegant handle was wrapped in looping silver curlicues and capped with gleaming steel. The blade itself was wrapped in a small leather pouch that could be clipped to a belt. “Hey,” she said absently as I walked up. “How’s things goin’?”

            “Not super well,” I admitted, leaning on the counter next to her. Nikita stood behind me, looking in the other direction as though scanning for danger. “A lot of people are in a pretty bad mood, I think.”

            She bristled suddenly. “And what, you’re coming over here to tell me it’s my fault?”

            “What—no, of course not,” I stared at her in confusion. “You asked, so I’m telling.”

            Her expression slowly lowered. “Jesus. Sorry, that came out of nowhere. Everyone just seemed really pissed off after I pointed out Zach as a suspect. So I guess I just kind of feel like everything is my fault now.”

            “Well… it probably didn’t help,” I told her. “But I think everyone would be in a bad mood anyway, what with Malcolm dying. So don’t take it too personally.”

            AJ turned, leaning on the counter with a sigh. “I thought it would help if I was honest about my suspicions. And I mean… Zach _is_ acting suspicious, isn’t he? I’m not just imagining that, right?”

            I narrowed my eyes, trying for aloof. “Well, it’s hard to say.”

            “ _I_ think he’s suspicious,” she muttered. “No one acts that nice in a prison full of strangers. No one.”

            “Well, maybe we’ll find out the truth later,” I said, determined to not confirm or deny anything for her. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

            “A’ight,” she said.

            Completing the loop around the room led me to Jack, who was sitting up on one of the tables, glaring at his lap with an irritable expression. I approached with caution in mind. “Hey. Is something wrong?”

            He looked up at me, then down again. “Hey. I’m just thinking about what happened in the cafeteria earlier.”

            I recalled how he’d snapped at Zach. “You really suspect him, don’t you?”

            “Well, I mean—” He seemed to struggle with his words for a moment. “AJ’s right, you know? Zach is acting _real_ suspicious. If he really did kill Malcolm, then we can’t just sit back and let him do whatever the hell he wants to!”

            “That’s true, but…” I leaned back, studying him. “You sure you’re not just letting your emotions get the best of you? You and Malcolm seemed to be getting pretty close, what with the music and all.”

            He shrugged stiffly. “Yeah, we were. Or at least I was. He was a nice guy, but he was keeping to himself mostly. I just… never expected something like this to happen. To be perfectly honest with you, I didn’t think anyone would take the bait and go for murder. But now that it’s happened… well, that person deserves to pay.”

            I couldn’t help but agree with him. I set my jaw, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get everything figured out as soon as we can. I promise.”

            He nodded lightly. “Thanks, Mads.”

            I then made my way out of the laundry room and back down the hall to the first door on the left. Nikita followed close behind, staff resting on her shoulder blades in a loose, one-handed grip. Opening the door revealed what appeared to be a recreational room of sorts. There were two soft-looking leather couches and a coffee table in one corner, a row of four arcade games along the right wall, and a piano on the far side of the room. The ground was still the usual gray stone, but looked much more inviting than any other room I’d seen so far. I noticed Isabelle standing in front of a Ms. Pac-Man machine, Bree watching from off to the side.

            I made my way over, curious. Isabelle had gotten pretty far into the game—pretzels were the current bonus food. She was tightly gripping the joystick while her free hand kept her steady on the side of the machine. Her eyes were narrowed and unblinking, focused. I leaned on the Mortal Kombat game next to me and watched in silence.

            She kept it going for at least another ten minutes before the mistakes caught up to her: Ms. Pac-Man did that thing where she folded up into a black hole, and then the game was over. Isabelle turned around with a huff, slumping on the machine. “That was pretty good!” Bree said.

            “I guess,” she muttered. “I could have done better, but it’s been a while since I last played. Oh well. The machine’s free, so maybe I can get some practice in.”

            I glanced past her crossed legs to see that there was, in fact, no coin slot on any of the machines. You simply pressed start and the game would begin. “You know, there’s a laundry room in the door past this one. All the machines in there are free, too.”

            “That was awfully nice of Monobear,” Bree observed, one eyebrow raised.

            “It’s not like any of us have any money on us,” Isabelle said. “If the machines weren’t free, then none of them would ever get used.”

            “Good point,” I said, considering. “Though I wonder why that stupid thing even gave us this shit in the first place. I mean, we’re only here for five more days. What use could any of this be?”

            Bree looked thoughtful. “Something to pass the time, I guess. He said on the overhead that this might encourage us to start killing. So maybe he wants to get us relaxed? That seems like something he would do.”

            “And anyway, what makes you so sure that he has control over what’s in the prison and what isn’t?” Isabelle pointed out. “The guy himself said he doesn’t have control over everything about this place. So maybe it’s laid out like this whether he wants it to be or not.”

            I nodded. “Maybe.”

            She stretched, arms high and taut over her head. “Well, time for another round. Thanks for the chat, Mads.”

            “You got it.” I nodded at Bree before walking away to investigate the rest of the room. I spotted Caehl, sitting on one of the couches and fiddling with her ElectroID.

            “Hey,” I said as I walked over. She looked up, lowering the ID with a sort of curious expression.

            “Hi Mads,” she said brightly. “Gosh, I haven’t gotten to talk to you since we were in the armory last night. You seemed in an awful hurry to get somewhere. Did you figure out who the culprit was?”           

            She said it very comfortably and casually, as though there would be nothing wrong with me withholding this information until now. She seemed so relaxed about it, in fact, that I was almost tempted to tell her the truth. But I held my tongue. “Nikita and I had a hunch, but we turned out to be wrong. It was nothing.”

            “That sucks,” Caehl said, furrowing her brow and looking away. “I was really hoping that _someone_ would be able to solve it. I think everyone would really calm down if we knew for sure who the culprit was.”

            I frowned. “You do?”

            “Well, yeah,” she said. “Everyone’s frustrated because we don’t have any answers to any of our questions. And we were given everything we needed to solve this puzzle, but we still couldn’t do it. I think, if we could solve just one mystery in this place, then everyone would start feeling a lot more confident and relaxed.”

            “That’s true…” I murmured. I hadn’t considered this possibility yet, but she was completely right. “What about the culprit though?”

            Her troubled expression grew ever-more troubled. “Everyone would probably be pretty mean to them. It wouldn’t be pretty. But if the answer was out in the open, then maybe the culprit would explain themselves? Maybe there’s a logical solution to all of this, and they can explain it. You know?”

            “Maybe,” I said, but at this my doubts had begun to return. I had confronted Zach, after all, and he hadn’t a single answer to give me. In fact, any answer I’d gotten through that whole fiasco had been given to me by that strange hooded figure—and even then, very little of it made sense. So revealing Zach as the culprit definitely didn’t seem like the sort of thing that would get us answers.

            After my conversation with Caehl, I returned to the hall to address the passageway at the end of this new area. From a distance it seemed to be more dimly lit than the other sections of the prison, as well as much smaller. I went through the passage to find myself in a small, circular chamber. A steel ladder was at the end, leading skyward. I looked up to see a hatch or manhole of some sort at the top of the ladder. Jacob was perched at the top, legs tucked into the ladder rungs as he poked at the manhole with his pocketknife.

            “Hey,” I called up, tone one of surprise.

            He twisted around to look down at me, then quickly returned to his work. “Hi Mads! I think I’ve found the prison’s exit.”

            “Looks like it,” I said. “So we really _are_ underground, huh?”

            “Yep,” he murmured, then paused as he pulled out a different screwdriver from the pocketknife. “You’ve been to the pool, right? There’s some grates in there that I think lead to the surface.”

            “Yeah, I noticed,” I said. I considered him for a moment. “Hey, can’t you get in trouble for that? The rules say we’re not allowed to damage locked doors.”

            “This isn’t a door,” he called back.

            I glanced at Nikita, frowning. Her expression didn’t offer much in terms of advice. But… Monobear wasn’t showing up, so maybe the rules really _were_ that literal. I leaned against the passageway, waiting around to see what might happen.

            After a few minutes Jacob let out a loud sigh, lowering the screwdriver. “It’s no use. This thing won’t budge no matter what I try.”

            “Monobear must have really good locks, then,” I said.

            I saw him shake his head. “There’s no lock on here, actually. Just screws holding the mechanism in place. I think it must be sealed in some way.”

            I avoided a shudder—the word “sealed” implied a tomb, or an otherwise airless vacuum of inescapable space. “Maybe he’ll open it for us later?”

            “I can’t imagine it,” he responded. “I mean, this must be where the murderers are going to exit from, right?”

            “Now that you mention it, probably,” I said, thinking.

            “What’s going on?” A voice said behind me. I turned to see Zach standing just outside of the passageway, looking curious.

            I really didn’t want to talk to him, but I forced myself to stay civil. Jacob was listening. “We found the ladder to the surface,” I told Zach.

            “It’s sealed, so we can’t break out,” Jacob added.

            “Yeah,” I said.

            “I think this is how the murderers are going to leave.”

            “ _Yeah_ ,” I said, with extra emphasis.

            Zach swallowed. “Oh. That’s cool. Do you need any help, Jacob?”

            “No, I’m alright,” he said. “I’m going to come down soon, anyway.”

            “Are you sure?”

            “He said he didn’t need your help, Zach,” I muttered. “In fact, everyone seems to be getting along just fine, with or without your help. It’s almost like we don’t even need you.”

            There was a pause. “Is something going on down there?” Jacob called.

            “Nope!” I said, a little too loudly. Apparently I couldn’t keep my cool like I thought I could. “I just need to have a talk with Zach right now. I’ll see you around, Jacob.”

            “Okay…” his voice followed me out into the hall as I grabbed Zach’s arm and yanked him after me. I walked us near the other end of the hall, towards the first wing of the prison, spinning Zach around to face me. Nikita followed at a distance, observing.

            “Here’s the thing,” I said. “I want you to speak as little as humanly possible for the next five days. Do you hear me? I don’t want you offering your help to anyone. I don’t want you trying to make good with all the people who suspect you. Okay? You dug this goddamn grave for _yourself_ when you killed Malcolm, and now you’re gonna lie in it. You’re gonna sit there and take all the horrible looks people give you; all the anger and suspicion directed your way. It’s not your job to fix this, it’s your job to take it. Do you understand?”

            “I…” His eyebrows furrowed together. “I hardly think that’s fair.”

            “You _killed_ someone,” I reminded him. “This isn’t a discussion of fairness.”

            “But, I’m…” he fidgeted under my steel gaze. “I chose to stay here specifically because I _want_ to help you guys. I can’t just… not do that. That would defeat the whole purpose.”

            “Maybe we don’t want your help,” I snapped.

            “Maybe _you_ don’t!” he snapped back. “Maybe the others would think differently. If we told them the truth—”

            I cut him off immediately. “Jack was ready to kill you about an hour ago! You wanna tell him that his suspicions are justified and that you actually _did_ murder Malcolm? Cause I can tell you right now that isn’t gonna go over well.”

            He took a breath. “That’s not what I meant. Listen, I know you’re mad at me because of what I did. But the others don’t know about that right now, and… well, all of us are pretty scared. I’m quite sure they would want some encouragement and assistance from someone like me. Someone who knows more about what’s going on.”

            “If you know more, then tell us!” I was struggling to keep my voice down. “Don’t just sit there and say you can ‘help us’ like some entitled asshole.”

            His expression suddenly darkened, teeth grit. “You’re one to talk! Ever since this whole thing started you’ve done nothing but act like you’re better than me and everyone else. Like you’re some omniscient know-it-all who’s going to somehow save the day with your fucking six-foot-tall body guard and your selfish attitude—”

            I punched him so hard he fell over, cheek immediately turning red. He touched it gently with his free hand as he struggled to sit up with the other, looking at me with a hurt wince. “I told you last night I didn’t want to talk to you anymore,” I reminded him. “I wish you’d listen.”

            I took off to the first wing of the prison before he could respond. After a minute of walking I glanced behind me to see that Nikita was just catching up, her pace falling into rhythm with mine. “You gonna reprimand me now?” I muttered.

            “No,” she said. “You are aware of your own actions.”

            Needless to say that didn’t make me feel any better. “Whatever,” I said. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference for this particular chapter title shouldn't be too hard to find. I'll discuss its meaning in the next update's notes.


	8. 2.2 "Lonely, Maybe"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lot of crazy stuff happening in this one.

(Ab)normal Days Part 2

            The cafeteria was mostly empty. It seemed that most people had either already eaten, or were taking their time exploring the new wing before they did. Or, I mused, maybe they didn’t want to eat: we had just been in the presence of a dead body, after all. I was once again reminded of how relaxed I’d been, despite how extreme the circumstances were. I recalled the fight I’d witnessed between Zach’s friends and the soldiers of “Super High School Level Despair”: he had taken out three of them without a breath between. Was it possible that all of us had been like that before coming here?

            Not wanting to think about it, I opened the fridge, focusing on getting something to eat. Nikita stood behind me, arms crossed behind her back. Her expression was a thoughtful one. I turned back to the fridge, absently touching my fingertips to the knuckles of the hand that had punched Zach.

            I could hardly focus. “Are you going to eat anything?” I asked Nikita.

            “I am not hungry,” she said. I spun around to look at her again, frowning.

            “Why not?” I asked.

            Her cutting eyes swiveled up to meet mine. The hair over one half of her face made her expression hard to read. “I am not going to eat if I’m not hungry,” she said simply. Then she lifted herself up from the wall and strode out of the cafeteria.

            I suddenly and inexplicably wished that someone would punch _me._ Agitated, I pulled an apple out of the fridge and retreated to one of the cafeteria tables, biting into it and staring at the ground as I chewed. My hunger, along with my inexplicable fury, rapidly faded. I wasn’t even halfway through the apple before the idea of eating more of it made me feel ill. Placing it on the table, I looked up at the timer. 117.34.21 and counting. I held my hands in my lap, glowering at them.

            I wanted out of here. I really did. I was trying not to think about it. It seemed like a particularly slippery slope to me: I figured I could go from wanting to get out to thinking that killing someone wouldn’t be that big of a deal. It would take only a couple of minutes. Because, like probably everyone else here, I wanted out of here more than I wanted anything else. And it was possible that I even wanted it enough to kill for it.

            But if I didn’t think about it, I wouldn’t have to face that possibility. I could just keep telling myself that killing wasn’t an option, and I would accept that. So long as I didn’t think about it, I could make myself accept that. I shook myself, running my hands through my hair in an attempt to clear these thoughts.

            As I raised my head, I saw Ash leaning on the kitchen counter, their eyes lowered to the floor in a look of consternation. Not realizing I was watching, their expression crumpled—I thought they might cry. But before they could, they turned and quickly fled the cafeteria.

            Not having anything better to do, and determined to keep all these dark thoughts at bay, I got up and followed them out the door. I was just in time to see them round the corner towards the new wing, and quickly followed. I caught up to them about halfway down the hall, just past the entrance to the workout room. “Hey!” I called, catching up.

            Ash turned and watched my approach in silence, blinking rapidly as though to assert the neutrality of their expression. Unsure of what to say, I decided to be blunt: “Were you crying just now?”

            They looked down. “Uh… sort of, yeah. Sorry. That must have been awkward to watch.”

            “No, it’s fine,” I responded, shaking my head. “Is something wrong?”

            “Yeah, I guess,” they said. “I was… it’s gonna sound stupid.”

            “No it won’t.”

            They sighed, suddenly fidgety. “I was just poking around in the kitchen and I noticed there were some cloves, so I… it’s the smell, see. My mom and I used to bake. There was one time, when it was snowing, just before Christmas… I’ve never seen it snow as hard as it did that day. I don’t get to spend the holidays with my mom much anymore. So it’s just… we were making pumpkin pies and the cloves… the smell, just… I can’t forget it.”

            I stared. “Hey, woah. It’s okay. That’s a completely reasonable thing to cry about.”

            Their expression was terse and wondering, watching me like I was a wild animal threatening to bite them. “Do you think… I keep worrying about everyone. My mom, and—I have a brother! Do you think they’re okay?”

            I thought of the war I’d seen in the simulation and tried not to let my expression betray anything. “I hope they are, that’s for sure.”

            “I just… keep trying to remember things, you know?” they said. “Like, maybe if I can remember something important, I’ll be able to help somehow. Monobear keeps stuff about our missing memories, so that has to be important, right?”

            “Yeah, the memories are probably pretty important,” I said, again thinking of the simulation. “He wouldn’t have taken them from us otherwise. But I don’t think we’re just going to remember things because we want to. There’s gotta be some way to trigger it, or something.”

            They nodded, lowering their gaze. “And I know that. Really, I do. But I just… I just wish I could know what’s going on out there.”

            “Me too,” I admitted, a little bitterly. “But… hey. Try not to depress yourself with this stuff, you know? As long as we can stay focused, I’m sure everything will be okay.”

            “Yeah.” They gulped in a breath. “Everything will be just fine. Right up until the point when we die.”

            “Okay, woah, holy shit,” I put a hand out, as though to steady them. “Let’s talk about something else, seriously. Before we both get whipped up into a state of depression.”

            They ruffled their hair from the back forwards, looking a little sheepish. “Y-Yeah, you’re right. This really isn’t a good subject to be on. Uh... So what was the whole deal with Nikita? Has she not been talking to anyone but you?”

            “Pretty much, yeah,” I said, leaning back against the wall. “I honestly couldn’t tell you what’s up with her if I tried.”

            “Well, she seems nice,” Ash offered. “I think she’s just lonely, maybe. I mean, does she seem healthy to you? Like she’s getting enough sleep? Like she’s eating properly? She might be depressed, or sick, and that could throw her off really badly.”

            “You seem awfully worried about her,” I said, surprised.

            “I worry about everyone,” they said with a light laugh. “But yeah, I guess I am _especially_ worried about her. I think she needs some extra consideration, you know?”

            I looked down. “You’re probably right. To be honest… well, I don’t know if she’s eating properly or anything. I haven’t asked.”

            “I don’t want to push, but maybe you should?” they suggested. “She seems to like you. So you might be able to get through to her.”

            “I guess so,” I said. I refrained from telling them that I didn’t really _want_ to. I already felt close enough to her as it was, and I still had yet to figure out why she was so hell-bent on hanging out with me. It was starting to get kind of weird, and I wasn’t too keen on encouraging the habit.

            I only talked with Ash for a little while longer before leaving them to their own devices. I was admittedly a little surprised to have seen them get so emotional—they hadn’t struck me as the sort of person who would respond in such a way. It seemed as though there was a lot more to them than I’d originally assumed. I wondered if I would get a chance to hang out with them again later.

            As I was walking back, I heard the sound of a treadmill running from the workout room—I poked my head inside to see Bree keeping a light jog, her limbs taut and held close at her sides as she kept pace. She offered a light wave as I entered, focusing on her exercise. After I’d been lurking for a few minutes, she slowed to a walk and took several deep breaths of air before speaking. “Hey Mads!”

            “Hey,” I said. “Exercising?”

            “Mmhm,” she murmured brightly before slowing the machine to a halt and hopping off. “I could stand a break, though. What are you doing over here?”

            “I was just talking with some of the others,” I said, refraining from mentioning Ash by name. I didn’t want to make their business a public affair. “I figured I’d stop by and say hello. Since I heard the machine running and all.”

            She retrieved a towel from the table, running it behind her neck. “That was nice of you. So what do you think of the boys here?”

            “Sorry?” I said.

            “The boys,” she said, then laughed. “Or is that not your style? It’s a little hard to make any guesses, especially because of the no-gender thing. So what do you like?”

            I studied her closely. “Dating-wise, I’m okay with just about any gender.”

            She leaned on the table. “That’s cool. Girls aren’t really my forte, though. I’ve always been into guys, you know? And I think some of the guys here are pretty cute.”

            Well, she wasn’t wrong. I crossed my arms, curious to hear her analysis, and said, “Yeah?”

            “Hmm…” she considered. “Well, I thought Zach was pretty cute at first, but since he’s probably a murderer that might not be a good choice. Aaron has some good things going for him… Jack’s pretty good looking too.” At this she laughed lightly. “And I know it sounds weird, but… you know those pictures on the doors of the empty cells?”

            I nodded.

            “Well, I think that Dexter Lessman guy is pretty cute-looking. He looked really sweet. Like a little puppy, you know?”

            I recalled his dark, somber eyes: if he was a dog, he surely would have been the feral kind. I didn’t say that, though. “Yeah, I guess so. I suppose I haven’t really been thinking about that.”

            Her expression fell slightly. “Right, yeah. What with the whole thing about how we’re all going to die. I get it. Part of me just…” she hesitated. “I know this is going to sound weird, but I don’t think this prison is all that bad. If it weren’t for the fact that we’re going to die in five days, this place might actually be kind of enjoyable.”

            I frowned, considering the floor. “It’s not the fanciest place in the world, but… I guess I see what you mean. It’s just hard to associate anything good with a place like this. Since, you know, it’s a prison. And also the place where we’re going to die.”

            “If we don’t kill someone first,” she reminded me, a little bitterly. “But I don’t want to think about any of that. Seriously, it’s so depressing. Even if we’re going to die, why can’t we be happy during our final days?”

            “You’ve got a point,” I admitted. As if on cue my hunger from before abruptly returned, as though encouraging me to try a little harder. “Hey, it’s almost lunch time, so I’m gonna head to the cafeteria. See you there?”

            Bree nodded in the affirmative, smiling. “See you, Mads.”

            As I walked off, I found myself reevaluating my opinion of Bree. Her generally upbeat attitude seemed to be an intrinsic part of her personality, but maybe it held a deeper meaning as well. It seemed to me like she really did want to just enjoy herself, even if our situation was shitty and unpleasant. It was an admirable attitude, really. I found myself curious to know more about her.

            Once in the cafeteria, I made myself a sandwich. There were already quite a few people here—Ari, Laura and Jack were talking at one table, and Caehl and AJ were talking together at another. Zach was sitting alone, near the door. I noted that he had an ice pack next to him—the swelling on his cheek had gone down considerably, though. Near the other end of the room, Aaron and Isabelle were sitting together. I decided to join them.

            “Hey guys,” I said as I sat down. “What’s going on?”

            “Nothing, really,” Isabelle muttered, head resting in her hand. “But things ain’t going that well. Everyone’s _real_ fuckin’ moody today.”

            “How so?” I asked.

            “Well, for example,” she said. “I came up to Aaron here with the intentions of having a nice, friendly conversation. But my mere presence threw him into a fuckin’ rage. And now he won’t talk to me.”

            Aaron glowered over at her. “You came over here and started _accosting_ me with a rant about memes. How the hell did you _think_ I was going to respond?”

            “Hey man, don’t be like that,” she said. “Pepe the frog is quality humor.”

            “The fucking frog,” he said. “Is disgusting.”

            “Not to mention,” I added. “That meme is _way_ old. Like, quite a few years old. Why are you trying to bring back a relic like that one?”

            “God, not you too,” Aaron grumbled.

            I glared at him. “Hey, I’m on your side here! I think that was a poor choice in meme.”

            “Pepe the frog is a classic,” Isabelle said—but quickly frowned. “Not to mention I’ve sort of been out of the loop on current meme culture. We’re in a prison, remember? A lot can change in a month. I’m not going to try and have a discussion about memes that I don’t know.”

            “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” Aaron grumbled.

            I was about to respond, but was cut off when I saw movement in my peripheral vision. Glancing to the side, I saw Jack standing in front of Zach, his voice lowered as he muttered something to the designer. He had Zach’s arm gripped tightly in his hand, not allowing him to leave.

            Aaron watched as my expression fell and quickly turned around to watch. “That doesn’t look good,” he said softly.

            Zach looked uncomfortable. I watched as he pulled away from Jack, resisting him—but his grip tightened. Jack looked angry. Enraged, even. Whatever he was saying, he spit it at Zach through grit teeth, expression screwed up in a dark fury. I quickly stood up, calling, “Hey, guys. What’s going on?”

            Jack paused to look at me, not letting go of Zach. “I’m tired of this _asshole_ walking around and doing whatever he pleases. We need to lock him up. Take his ElectroID. If we don’t, he might kill again.”

            “Hang on a minute,” I said, moving around the side of the cafeteria table to get a bit closer to them. “We don’t know for sure if Zach is Malcolm’s killer. And even if he was, why would he kill someone else?”

            “Why else would he _stay_ here?” he spat. “It doesn’t make any sense! This fucker’s got some plan or another up his sleeve. I know he does.”

            The others in the cafeteria were watching us uncomfortably. Zach watched me in silence, expression pleading. I let out a long sigh, once again getting moody over the fact that I had to defend him. “Listen, Jack, I understand your frustration. But we can’t just lock him up. It’s not right.”

            His expression lowered—but he didn’t let go of Zach’s arm. “Fine. But I’m confiscating his weapon. He doesn’t deserve to have something like that with him.”

            He reached for the umbrella on the table. I recalled the seam along the handle that would free the hidden blade and felt panic surge in my limbs. If he had Zach’s umbrella with him, he might discover the hidden weapon—and then he would know for sure that Zach was the killer. “Wait a second, Jack,” I said, stepping closer.

            “No,” he snapped, not looking at me. “I refuse to let him keep this thing.”

            Zach spoke up, realizing the danger. “Jack, please, you have to trust me. I’m not going to hurt anyone. You can’t just take that from me—what if someone decides to kill me?”

            “Serves you right,” he muttered.

            Zach reached out with his free hand and grabbed the umbrella near the base, just below the canopy. “Hey—let go!” Jack snapped.

            “No, Jack, just… let me—”

            Jack let go of Zach’s other arm so he could grab the umbrella’s handle with both hands. In my head I kept imagining the handle popping free; the hidden blade being revealed. Jack’s front hand was pressed right up against Zach’s, trying to push him off.

            “Guys…” I took a few more steps forward, trying to figure out the best way to intervene. “Can we knock this off for a second?”

            “No,” Jack grunted, and then gave one more herculean yank on the umbrella. Zach let go, stumbling back in surprise—but all the weight had been on Jack’s front hand. As Zach’s hand disappeared, inertia took over, and Jack’s grip slid forward across the handle, under the canopy.

            I knew what was going to happen a second before it did and screamed, running forward. I never would have been fast enough, though. Jack’s hand hit the latch and the canopy extended with a violent whoosh of air. A dart shot from the center and directly into Zach’s face.

            I’ll never forget the sound it made when it hit flesh. Or Zach’s scream as he buckled over, hands curling over his face. Many other people in the room screamed in response. Blood pooled and then poured across his cheek; down to the floor. Jack immediately dropped the umbrella, his eyes going wide. The anger seemed to leave him in this moment of horror. He looked at me; looked at everyone else in the room; then he turned and ran.

            “Fucking—Jesus, fuck,” I hissed under my breath as I tried to get closer to Zach and assess the damage. In a moment, though, I wished I hadn’t: as he struggled to get a breath he briefly moved his hands away, and all the gory damage was immediately in full view. The dart was embedded in his right eye, gleaming silver dotted in rivulets of red. His socket seemed to have concaved around the weapon; beneath it, blood ran like a river down his face.

            I quickly looked away, stomach churning as I gripped onto one of the cafeteria tables for support. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Laura dash across the room, quickly kneeling at Zach’s side, seemingly unaware of the blood that started soaking into her jeans. “Can you get up?” she asked him. “It’s alright, okay? It doesn’t look… _too_ bad. I was training to be a vet before I got here. I can help you, okay?”

            Zach nodded numbly at everything she said, slowly and carefully stumbling to his feet. I was wondering how in the hell Laura planned on helping him without any medical supplies—but then Monobear appeared behind the stage, carrying a large red medical kit in both paws. It placed the kit on the table where the flashlight bin was. Seeing my piercing stare, it gave me a sort of bitter, half-growl: then it quickly turned and left.

            Caehl had noticed this development as well. She ran over to the table, grabbed the medical kit, and then trotted over to Laura’s side. “Where should we take him?” she asked.

            Laura noted the medical kit, nodding with a grateful expression. “We’re going to take you to your cell, Zach. Is that okay?”

            He tried to nod again, his good eye wincing, and said, “U-Uh-huh.”

            The two of them carefully escorted him out of the cafeteria—leaving the rest of us alone with an umbrella and a pool of blood. My eyes found Aaron’s. He frowned at me, then looked away and ran a hand over his mouth, expression dark.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            Obviously the next step was to find Jack.

            I wasn’t expecting an easy search, especially considering how much of a head start he’d gotten out of the cafeteria. As I ran out into the corridor I scanned the various rooms, hoping to find any evidence that someone was inside—but it turned out that all I needed to do was listen. After a moment I could hear Jack’s voice, muffled through the walls of the prison, but distinctly his. He was yelling, a scraping and thumping sound accompanying him.

            I followed the noise to the armory and very carefully cracked the door open. Inside, I saw Jack with his guitar raised, repeatedly slamming it into one of the wooden support beams in the armory. With each hit the large metal blade along the body scraped against the wood, sending woodchips flying through the air. After a moment I slipped inside, staying near the door and waiting for him to calm down.

            It took a couple minutes, but eventually the anger seemed to leave him. He lowered the guitar and backed away, arms slick with a sheen of sweat. “Are you okay?” I said as he caught his breath.

            “No,” he heaved. “Why the fuck would I be okay? Zach was—he—” He lifted the guitar again, jaw set, but then thought better of it and let it drop to the ground. His hands went to his forehead, running through his dark hair.  “Jesus. Jesus fuck.”

            I swallowed. “He’s—well, he’s not dead, if it’s any consolation. Laura and Caehl are taking care of him.”

            “I took his eye out!” Jack yelled, voice strained. “ _Fuck_! I-I-I wasn’t thinking clearly. If I’d just calmed down for a minute, I could have… I just… god, what have I done…”

            Deeming it safe, I wandered a little further into the room. “Hey, you don’t need to beat yourself up about it. You didn’t know how the umbrella worked. And with how on-edge everyone is… well, it could have happened to anyone.”

            He shook his head, gaze lowered. “No, it couldn’t have. I’m… I have…” he took a breath. “Anger issues.”

            “What do you mean?” I said.

            He slumped against the far wall of the armory, taking a deep breath, arms draped over his knees. “I had this… girlfriend a while back. She wasn’t that great, I guess. She would fuck around with other guys, flirt with people—get promiscuous or whatever. I kept telling her to stop but she’d never listen. And then I’d just… get so mad. It kept happening more and more frequently, where I couldn’t get myself under control—and then I’d lash out, and… do horrible things.”

            My expression lowered. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

            His eyes darkened. “I thought I had it under control. I just wanted to talk to Zach. Get him under supervision or something—because he’s dangerous! But then I started getting angry, and I… Fuck. God, I’m so sorry.”

            “You… you meant well, at least,” I said. “I’m sure Zach will be fine.”

            “But his eye…”

            I suppressed a grimace, looking at the carving job Jack had done to the support beam. “It’s… not something you can give back, yeah. But I mean—come on. If you keep being so negative towards yourself, of course you’re going to have more of these anger attacks.”

            He shrugged bitterly. “ _One_ good thing has come of it, I guess. I’ve started growling rather than shouting, which is useful for singing metal.”

            It seemed like such a benign reason—I smiled weakly. “I’m happy to hear that.”

            “Yeah,” he said. He was quiet for a moment, staring at his guitar on the floor. “Thanks for coming to talk to me, Mads. I’m okay now. I just need some time on my own.”

            “Are you sure?”

            He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

            I quickly and quietly left, head spinning from everything he’d said and everything that was going on. Jack seemed like a friendly and sociable person on most days, but it seemed he had a dramatically darker side to share as well. I wondered if he would ever be willing to tell me more about himself. It certainly seemed like there was quite a story there.

            Not really paying attention to where I was going, I found myself wandering into the laundry room in the new wing. Looking around, I saw that it was mostly silent and empty, save for the hum of one dryer running in the far right corner—that, and the presence of Kayla, who was sifting through a basket of newly dried clothes. She looked up as I entered.

            “Ah, hello Mads,” she said. “What are you doing over here?”

            I shrugged. “Just taking a walk. Some things… went wrong in the cafeteria a little while ago.”

            “Oh my,” she said, putting down the current article of clothing and turning to face me. “Such as?”

            “Zach got injured,” I muttered. “I’m gonna go check up on him later. I’ll probably be able to give you more info then.”

            She nodded appreciatively. “Well, despite the upsetting circumstances, I think this chance meeting works out well. You no doubt want to get your mind off of all this unpleasant business, and I have something interesting I want to talk to someone about. Do you care to listen?”

            I nodded, a little warily.

            “Good,” she said, then cleared her throat. “I have recently found myself pondering the meaning of the PBS Kids show _Martha Speaks_ with alarming frequency. I think I have reached a conclusion about this show. I believe the show is submitting a working theory for the definition of humanity.”

            I blinked. “Um—”

            She put up a hand. “Please, allow me to explain. _Martha Speaks_ is about a dog, Martha, who eats alphabet soup and from then on is able to speak. She meets all of the necessary criteria for humanity—that being intelligence, empathy, and sentience. Children who watch the show do not view her as a pet, but as a character, with the potential for development and change.”

            I suddenly had a profound urge to get out of this conversation.

            “Let us go through these three criteria and my reasoning behind each,” she continued. “We see empathy through Martha’s character. She is kind and caring, and wishes to help others. This separates us from other, retroactively ‘less-developed’ species, because it gives us the ability to connect and reason with others. She is intelligent in part because she can talk, but more importantly because she can _learn._ Anyone can mimic intelligence, but the ability to develop independent thoughts and opinions is the mark of _true_ intelligence. Her sentience comes from the fact that she is aware of her own existence as well as, on some level, her inevitable death. She is also capable of perceiving the existence and eventual termination of others. Naturally she may not fully understand these things, but at the very least she is aware of them.”

            “Wow, Kayla, that’s cool—”

            “One moment, I’m nearly finished,” she said. “Anyway, I’ve recognized these three things as the core components of humanity. Now, one may argue that this definition is faulty, because if we go by it a serial killer would not be considered human—a serial killer lacks empathy, after all. But this simply raises larger questions towards whether or not a serial killer should be considered human in the first place. Regardless, we also see these three traits in characters, which is what allows us to perceive them as human, despite the fact that they are not real. Thus, the end analysis is simple: Martha the dog and her overall existence can be seen as a metaphor for the human condition and the necessary traits one needs to be a human. This concludes my thoughts about the show _Martha Speaks_.”

            “Um,” I took a breath. “Th-Thanks?”

            She seemed a little disappointed by my lack of response. “I apologize if that was a little heavy-handed,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

            “No, I just…” I shook my head faintly. “That’s just a really weird thing to talk about, you know?”

            “My socializing skills have made me aware of the fact that a conversation can only be successful when a legitimate topic is provided. Is this not the case?”

            “Well… I guess…”

            “And here’s the deal, Mads.” She leaned forward, one hand on the counter. “People like weird shit, whether they want to admit it or not. And I like _giving_ people weird shit. I just gave you some weird shit, and we just bonded because of that. My resulting mastery of this social hierarchy is astounding, and thus you are inwardly impressed. But you won’t admit it to me. Yet. We need to bond more before this will happen.”

            I took a step back. “O-kay. I’m gonna go check on Zach, I think.”

            She nodded, slowly. “You do that, Mads. You do that.”

            As I was walking back towards the first wing, I considered the ridiculous conversation I’d just had with Kayla. She certainly seemed to be playing at some sort of caricature—but she also seemed to be completely serious at the same time. A total contradiction, but she was somehow making it work. I’d definitely have to get to know her better before I’d ever be able to make sense of it.

            Still, she wasn’t wrong—that discussion had distracted me from all the horrible shit going on. As I walked closer and closer to Zach’s cell, I felt my spirits sinking again. I thought about how I’d punched him only a few hours ago. If I’d known he was going to lose _his fucking eye_ just a little while later, would I still have done it? Probably not. My stomach churned.

            He’d killed Malcolm. I kept trying to remind myself of that. He’d taken his stupid fucking umbrella sword and stabbed Malcolm with it. He didn’t deserve any mercy or pity, right? But Jack had seriously injured him. Did he really deserve that? To be shunned and beaten and literally assaulted by all of us?

            Can a serial killer be considered human?

            I shook the now-ironic sound of Kayla’s voice out of my head and gently knocked on Zach’s door.

            After a short moment, Caehl opened it, expression frazzled and eyes a little wide. “Oh, hey Mads. Have you come to check up on him?”

            I nodded. “Is he okay?”

            She frowned, glancing backwards. “He’s… okay. His eye isn’t. But he’s okay.”

            “Can I come in?”

            She twisted around in search of Laura’s approval, then spun back to face me again. “Yeah, if you really want to. Just try to be nice, you know? And quiet.”

            I nodded as I came inside. Laura was sitting in front of Zach’s desk, where she’d propped up the medical kit. Its contents were strewn in and around its person. She was currently in the process of very slowly rewinding a coil of bandages. Zach was sitting in the middle of his bed, his head resting against the wall and his legs crossed over the mattress. He openly stared as I entered, expression morose and defeated. Laura had put a large white patch over his eye, some blood-soaked bandages just visible beneath it. I tried not to look too closely, directing my attention towards Caehl as she moved to the side of the bed.

            “Hey Mads,” Laura said, tone muted. “He should be alright. He needs to rest, though.”

            I shifted uncomfortably, almost immediately regretting my decision to come over here. I couldn’t bring myself to say a word to Zach, let alone even glance his way. “Okay. I can go if you’d like.”

            A look of something like concern briefly flashed over her features. “No, you can stay for a little while. I did want to talk to you, though. Do you think we could go outside for a minute?”

            I nodded, wondering what she could possibly want. She put down the bandages and led the way out of his cell, arms crossed over her chest. I followed, watching a little warily as she turned to face me with a troubled expression.

            “I’m… gonna be honest with you,” she said. “He’s lucky to be alive. That dart was shot with enough velocity that it could have gone right through his eye socket and into his skull. The fact that he got away with _just_ a missing eye is honestly a bit of a miracle.”

            I swallowed. “He doesn’t know that, I’m guessing?”

            She shook her head, looking away. “No one does. I don’t want them to freak out and turn on Jack. I’m just telling you because…” she hesitated. “Well, Zach seems to like you. Maybe you could… you know, keep the peace?”

            I wanted to scream in her face that he was a murderer and that all I’d been trying to do for the past 24 hours was keep the peace. But I couldn’t say any of that, and I didn’t know what else _to_ say. After a moment of silence, Laura continued: “I just… Zach seems like a really nice guy. I don’t think he murdered anyone. I just don’t. And Jack… Jack freaked out. I’m a little mad, but I’ll get over it. I just want to know for sure that something like that won’t happen again. And I think I can trust you to help.”

            I nodded, very slowly. “I can try. But no promises.”

            She let out a breath. “Thank you, Mads. Seriously, I really appreciate it.”

            I watched her re-enter his cell in silence. Was this how the rest of these five days were going to go? With me desperately struggling to keep a group of confused, half-demented teenagers under control? Between murderers and anger issues, cloaked figures and metaphors about talking dogs, I wasn’t sure what to think anymore. But if there was one thing I could pinpoint with confidence, it was the feeling of dread moving its way through my muscles—the undeniable truth that trouble was coming. And fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That comparison to Dexter and dogs was intentional, of course. He is our sexy werewolf man, after all. 
> 
> As per the usual, all of the stories in the free time events are completely true. 
> 
> Kayla's discussion about Martha Speaks was all pulled almost directly from my chat logs with her. She shared this theory about human nature with me, completely unironically (I think?), a little while back. She also wanted her free time to be about it. Go figure.


	9. KS Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy here we go.

            Kayla's eyes flicked open in the cafeteria, and her head rose from its resting position between her arms on the table. The only reason she has woken from her state was a peculiar, vivid smell- one that dreams couldn't emulate. This was not that it wasn't a dream-worthy smell, no, not at all. The item the smell comes from was a pie in the sky in the mangy prison. The smell of a still, stagnant liquid with various herbs, spices, and swag. Stupendous. Or should I say- "swagpendous."

            "Izzard," Kayla addressed as she rose from the table,  "my main lizard."

            Isabelle looked up. She was a few tables away from Kayla, her fellow Seagrave. In front of her, a bowl of soup lay. She seemed somewhat relieved to see her little sister walking towards her. With a certain tsundere glare, Isabelle acknowledged Kayla.

            "Oh, you're up. Look at all this fuckin' alphabet sou-"

            "I am aware of that delicious tomato elixir. Yum, yum, yummy within my tummy."

            Kayla leaned next to Isabelle, smiled, and rubbed her stomach. Isabelle made a face of disgust.

            "Well, if you say it's yummy you obviously haven't tried it. Try a spoonful of this tomato shit."

            Kayla shrugged her shoulder and slurped a spoonful. Absolutely disgusting. She spat the tomato elixir into Isabelle's hair immediately.

            "Dude." Isabelle became displeased. "What the FUCK."

            Isabelle stormed off angrily, out of the cafeteria, into her room for a shower. Kayla smirked, and chuckled a bit at her sister's misfortune. However. She could not for long, there was mystery afoot.

            She squinted her eyes in thought. “A mystery is afoot.” She thought, “No soup could ever be so terrible.” Indeed, Kayla had never tasted such a terrible tomato liquid. “A soup so terrible,” she thought, “so much garlic, salt, and undercooked, soggy noodles,”

            “This must truly call for the end of humanity.”

            With a tainted soup's worth of motivation, which was quite a lot, she made it her objective to learn how the soup could be so horrible. An investigation was required for such a sin, a dark red stain on the fabric of the world. She swallowed in thought, and her throat stung. A drop of the soup ate into her, ironically, like an acidic substance.

            Damn.

            Initially, Kayla thought it was just some nasty-ass soup. But a realization dawned upon her. This was the nastiest ass of all. Not a simple nasty ass, but ass in a bowl, liquified. As though, she were quite literally, eating ass. The only thing comparable was the time she tried a Kids Cuisine(™)  Microwaveable Meal as a child, and let me tell you, THAT was a fuckin’ doozy.

            Kayla decided, with the deloopadoopiest, dooziest shit she’d ever had comparable, the soup must have been poisoned. Either that, or the tomato within was some tom-ass-toe.

__

            “Whoever would want to poison my darling onee-san?” she murmured to herself as she walked to the pitiful pantry of the prison. A list of names of prison party poopers, (aka. possible suspects) appeared in her head along with their dastardly deeds. Due to her lack of interaction, only two poopers were thought of:

            Aaron, who disapproved of Pepe the Frog.

 

            Zachary, the probable and suspected murderer of Malcolm.

            Mads, who seemed… disoriented, to say the least, after her “Martha Speaks” speech a bit ago. 

            In her experience, first guesses are usually correct, as with gut reactions and instincts. Rational thought was always more easily confirmed, however, usually the first reaction is also correct. This is how our ancestors, those of whom lived before sophistication, survived. Such unfab lives they must have lived. Our 21st century fabulousness and critical thinking skills, Kayla decided, were taken for granted nowadays rather often.

            But all that was besides the point. Only baggage on her mind of suspecting assassins. But then again, was Izzy’s possible death-by-soup even planned? Could it simply be another incentive from Monobear to kill? That was easily told, easily heard, with a few words from our beary favourite bear.           

            “HEY, MONOBEAR!” she yelled, and the bear didn’t arrive. Strange, he would usually come to the ripe and potentially murderous child’s call, but he ceased to arrive

            Kayla decided to leave the pantry, a can of alphabet soup in her hand, an acceptable decision in her mind. And on the lunchtable her sister Isabelle was at, laid a certain post-it note. One only titled by: Memes.

__

            There is a certain emptiness found in memes, so that those funky fresh ideas can be twisted, personalized, and enjoyed by a wide range of mindsets within a society. Ideas that moved in this fashion, like a meme, would allow radical ideas to become mainstream. At one time, the 1880-90s, only “ladies of the night” would wear makeup.

 

            In the 1920s, makeup became a common thing to wear, mainly used by flappers. As society became more based on culture, the radio, which became popular, allowed ideas to move faster, and a wider variety of people could hear a wider variety of information. And with culture being a focus in a society, came the development of culture becomes a focus. Radical opinions, ideas and information was found easier. People consumed more information than ever through the progression of the 21st century, as more knowledge became available. People became desensitized to radical ideas. Things became less censored and more explicit.

            People cried at the implied destruction of the first Godzilla movie, in 1954. But now, about 60 years later, horrific things back then are considered commonplace. An example being bloody commercials for horror movies, even a commercial would deeply scare a person from the 1950s.

            Memes are ideas that move through a society. Fads and fashion styles, therefore, are similar to memes. So, the flappers of the 1920s can be called the first official memers.

            However, ideas’ movement through society happened long before that. Political parties, and even the birth of differing opinions, are memes.

            Memes, in this light, have been around from the beginning of intelligent thought. Humanity was born with the ability to meme, and will die with it. Otherwise, without memes, could we really be human?

            Memes and humanity, Kayla decided, must be synonymous with one another. Whoever would want to limit the flow of intelligent thought, would want to focus the mind on unimportant things. Things that do not truly matter, things that limit the mind from the pursuit of thought. This conclusion has been found by many people, and can be applied to many things, such as justification for orwellian conspiracy theories.

             Whoever limits the flow of knowledge, ideas, or memes of a society has control over their slice of humanity within the individuals.  It can be said with this statement, that something to be thought about with this line of thought, must be associated with an extreme or higher power. Obviously, to control the circulation of ideas within a society, one would need a higher power within said society.

            So, Kayla decided, whatever is trapping us here, and focusing our mind on unimportant things, must be associated with a higher power of some sort.

            Unimportant things, in her mind, was the obvious: murder. At least within this scenario.

            Although slightly Marxist, people can live in a group without fear. To apply to this situation of murder. We could live in peace, if there was no time limit, in this prison. Decent food, fellow humans, water, beds, a library. We could live in peace and harmony if one thing was not present: fear, and the incentives for murder. This could be a communist paradise, allowing the pursuit of knowledge and peace within our (small) society, considering there is no corruption or weakness within us prisoners, we could thrive.

            However, with the obvious fault in communism, comes the fault of this theory: human nature. Although we are all very good at our specified talents, we are imperfect. We will break eventually. No matter how strong, eventually, everyone breaks in fear.

            This is why Malcolm has died: someone, within us, has broken.

            Whoever has killed him is irrelevant to my point. The individuals does not matter in this situation. It is the psychological breaking of the individual, it is the death of intelligent thought, it is the dumbing down of people.

            Or rather, it is more human, and not dumbed at all. Human, in the fact that, as a species, we are not strong, we are weak and will break. But in any case, it is detrimental in the fact that we cannot strive to become greater, anymore, with the distraction of death limiting us. We cannot be stopped by the fear of death and despair if we are to reach our full potential as humans.

            Now, who has so illogically brought us down and has limited us and has brought upon despair and the destruction of free speech and thought? Who has censored conversation? Who doesn’t like memes?

            Aaron. Aaron said he didn’t like Pepe the frog.

            ...He must be the mastermind behind all this. Or rather, the Memestermind, deciding which memes are allowed and which thoughts are suitable. What information is allowed to be discussed, disliking Pepe the FROG. How irrefutably evil, vile, despicable.

            Kayla gripped her disgusting alphabet soup can in disgust. That Marxist fartlord.

__

            If one had to choose between humanity and memes, Kayla thought of as she approached Aaron’s cell, what would you choose?

            Memes.

            Memes are the most important thing humanity has ever created, as demonstrated by her earlier thoughts.

            They are the most intelligent and convenient way of exchanging thought from one side of society to another, they are just *so* important to, not survival, but life.

            Living is a mere shadow of survival in a day without memes.

            Without thought, without depth.

 

            And someone who plans to destroy all depth, knowledge, original, intelligent thought from our society can truly be unpunished? Leaving us mostly innocent prisoners to suffer a dull, worthless lives, unenriched by memes or nuance or love?

            Absolutely disgusting.

            How could I allow such a person to live?

            That’s it, I will not allow it.

            With this action, I will not only give myself peace of mind, but I will be effectively improving the lives of everyone around me by the gift of memes.

            Yes, I believe that there is no life worth living without memes, it is simply the nirvana, that only things like despair and other emotions are just a stepping stone, to memes.

            Memes are the only thing in life that are worth something, the only part of life truly worth living and defending.

            Without memes, we would all be living a dull life between the cogs of the capitalist machine, blindly consuming the anti-meme regime, without a thought in mind or a possible thought.

            Such a wasted life.

__

            At this point, Kayla was in Aaron’s cell, it was unlocked, and she was standing upon him silently.

            He was sleeping. Calmly.

            It would probably come off as very creepy to come into someone’s cell at night, and not murder them. Kayla was in no way an intentionally creepy person, although she didn’t mind being seen as one.

            She didn’t particularly mind many things, and considered herself a peaceful person. However, there were two things not to be crossed: showing affection for others, causing inconvenience to herself, and interfering with memes.

            Kayla noted that at this point, she did not have a particular murder weapon, but she was still holding the nasty alphabet soup from the pantry. She may as well use that as a murder weapon.

            She also noted that she wouldn’t want to awaken him, and she couldn’t really do much damage to him without a sharp edge or something.

            Hmm. She could always use the edge of the soup can as an edge, but, that wouldn’t cut deeply enough for him to die without noise or immediately.

            Unless if she threw it from a distance, very quickly, like a ninja star.

            But that also wouldn’t work. She would most likely miss, and the can’s lid would hit the metal wall, and someone would awaken and find me, and I have no hiding spot.

_

            And as she was sitting down in his chair, pondering, Aaron Feitelberg woke up.

            Kayla, unaware of this important development, continued to think. “Hmmm,” she seemed to be muttering.

            Aaron couldn’t see very well in such a dark area, but he did hear a murmur of a “hmmm,” which couldn’t be a good thing. Shit.

            “...Hello?”

            “Hi, I was just thinking of waking you up to ask you something.”

            “What?”

 

            “But it is nothing of your concern now, allow me to take my leave.”

            “Wait...why did you come into my room in the middle of the fucking night?”

            Kayla muttered, quietly, “...Pepe the frog…”           

            “..Wha-”

            And before Aaron could finish his inquisition, Kayla had already thrown the soup can at his forehead on instinct. The edge of the can hit above his left eyebrow with surprising force.

            And down he fell.

            Down, down, and down. Blood spurted from his forehead, and

            RIP.

__

            Surprising how fragile human life is, when it comes down to it. Kayla looked at the now limp, cold body of what used to be one of her prisonmates.

            She didn’t ever really plan on it, although she was planning, but what is done is done, she supposed. She let the thoughts of him being anti-meme go to her head, and now he is dead. Rest in peace, Aaron Feitelberg.

__

            Kayla, although a bit irked, returned to her cell and went to bed. I mean, she has just killed a man, but now there’s going to be angry people and emotional outbursts and people pointing fingers and ugh.

            People are annoying.

            She spent most of her time in bed, not sleeping, but thinking.

            Was it really the right thing to kill Aaron? If he was the memestermind, then she would find out in the morning. But was it morally right to kill a man?

            Probably not, but that didn’t matter, at least no one had to eat that can of soup.

            Yeah, it didn’t really matter that she had killed a man because no one had to eat this shitty soup and we are now free to exchange memes of Pepe the frog.

            And that was in no way sarcastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second of the alternate endings. In case that wasn't obvious. 
> 
> If the Cardboard Junko in the last alternate ending didn't give it away, I am in fact continuing the plotlines of the previous endings in the Re_dux endings. The first in Re:kindle was Cardboard Junko. This was to be Enrique con Queso, but Enoch was unfortunately not available to write an ending. So rather than continue the /plotline/ of his ending, I decided to continue the /customs/ of it--that is, having someone else write it. I chose Kayla for the task, and I'd daresay she performed beautifully. 
> 
> (I'd like to take this moment to remind you all that she is literally 13 years old.)
> 
> As a side note: I forgot to explain Chapter 2's title at the end of the last update. So I'll do that now.  
> Calise guessed this one right. "Empathy Module Not Responding" is a quote from the game Don't Starve. It is the menu screen phrase for the character of WX-78, a Steampunk robot with some particularly soulless tendencies.  
> I chose it for this Chapter's title for a myriad of reasons, most of which surround the idea of a lack of empathy. At this point in the story, the killing has already begun, and thus many of our characters have begun to lose sight of the things that make them human. They are, in a sense, entering a bit of a robotic state--unfeeling and without mercy. We see this in AJ's misguided attempt to call Zach out as the murderer; in Zach's decision to verbally attack Mads; in Mads' decision to punch him; in Jack's instability that drives him to take out Zach's eye. We will see this again later in the chapter, with one character in particular. The character in question is in fact the reason that I ultimately chose this Chapter name over any other contenders. 
> 
> Next update coming either later tonight or tomorrow, depending on this one's reception.
> 
> At Dexter's insistence, the Aaron that was murdered in this chapter is being counted towards a bonus kill. 
> 
> BONUS KILLS  
> THIS UPDATE: 1  
> TOTAL: 2


	10. 2.3 "Pink Licks"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one today! Though this one's short. Which is to be expected.

(Ab)normal Days Part 3

            The lights turned off again around the 108th hour. I went to my room when they did, tired and eager to sleep. I wouldn’t be thinking about all the horrible things that were happening if I was asleep. Zach losing his eye, Malcolm’s death, how upset AJ was, Jack’s outburst, my promise to Laura… everything just kept piling up. And still the threat of murder loomed, like a weight that wouldn’t leave my shoulders. It would be nice to sleep and forget about some of these things for a while.

            But of course once I lied down, I couldn’t even close my eyes. I kept thinking about that so-called “simulation” wherein I’d seen Malcolm’s real death. Based on all the things Zach was saying, it seemed as though he’d somehow gotten some of his memories back—did he know about what had really happened to Malcolm? Maybe I should have slowed down and talked to him some more. Asked him some straightforward questions about everything I’d seen rather than expecting him to explain himself. But then again, he was the murderer here, wasn’t he? Even _if_ Malcolm had “already been dead.” It was Zach’s responsibility to fix this, right?

            I rolled over in bed, staring blankly into the impenetrable darkness. I had neither the answers nor the means of finding them. Unable to find sleep, I called into the dark, “Aaron, are you awake?”

            I waited, but an answer didn’t come. After a hesitant moment I tried again—but still nothing. It seemed as though Aaron was fast asleep. That, or he was out of his cell and on his way to murder someone. Not wanting to think about it, I sat up and turned on my flashlight, pacing around my cell.

            I wanted answers. I really did. But obviously I wasn’t going to kill someone, so the only way to get what I wanted was going to be by asking someone who knew more than me. In other words, Zach. I was still pissed at the guy, but he was my only viable source of information. So I had no other choice.

            Retrieving my ElectroID, I carefully unlocked my cell door and headed out into the corridor. The flashlight revealed cool, empty corridors. No light was coming from either of the hallways, but as I made my way closer to what had once been Malcolm’s door, I found myself getting inexplicably nervous. So I turned and took the other corridor, going the long way around.

            It was an uneventful walk over. As I stood in front of Zach’s door I briefly considered turning around and forgetting about the whole thing; at this point he’d probably be just as pissed at me as I was at him, and anyway I was finally starting to feel tired. But in the end I forced myself to raise my hand and knock.

            There was a long moment of silence. Then I heard a muffled mutter of “One moment!” I stood there, shifting back and forth in the darkness, and almost took off—but then Zach opened the door. His hair was frazzled and unruly, the patch over his eye somewhat off-kilter.

            “What took so long?” I asked, then immediately wanted to kick myself for asking it.

            He glanced away, then back again. “I was… checking my eye. It took me a minute to get the patch back on. Sorry.”

            “It’s fine,” I said, a little taken aback. “Is uh… is it alright? The eye, I mean.”

            “It’s…” he laughed abruptly, rubbing at his neck. “Well, it’s gone. Laura took it out.”

            “What?” I said.

            He shrugged. “She said it was too inflamed to be fixed without surgery. And it’s not like we have the tools for that here, you know? So she just took it out so it wouldn’t infect the eye socket.”

            “Jesus,” I murmured.

            “She gave me this stuff that I’m supposed to wash it out with every now and then,” he said. “So that’s what I was doing. Sorry about the wait.”

            At my expression, his good eye went wide. “Oh—I mean, you don’t have to feel bad or anything. It’s not your fault. I wish I had some painkillers, cause it’s really aching, but… Well, at least I’m not sick or anything. I’ll be okay.”

            I swallowed, looking away. My stomach suddenly hurt. “Okay. Well, thanks for the update. I’m gonna go.”

            “What?” he said, blinking. “But what did you come over here for?”

            I hesitated. “I was gonna ask you about some stuff with Malcolm, but… I mean, with the way your eye is… It’s been a long day. You should be resting.”

            His expression softened. I couldn’t believe the fact that he wasn’t angry at me. It was driving me nuts how indifferent he seemed. “It’s okay,” he said. “You know there’s some things I won’t be able to answer, but… I’ll try my best.”

            I leaned against the wall, considering how to word it. “I… you keep saying that Malcolm was already dead. So do you know how he actually died?”

            This question made him pale somewhat. He glanced away. “It’s hard to explain. There was this war that happened. And Malcolm and I were together for a part of it. We got… um…”

            It suddenly seemed as though it were going to be difficult for him to continue. I swallowed. “You got attacked, right? And he got shot.”

            He stared at me.

            “And then you ran and tried to hide, but you were surrounded. And Malcolm died.”

            Both of us were silent for a long moment. I was shaking slightly and clamped my hands behind my back to hide it. I couldn’t even figure out why.

            Zach’s expression had settled on something like horror. “H-How do you know about that?”

            I was going to respond—but then I heard someone cry out, the sound echoing horribly in the cold, empty darkness. Zach and I both raised our heads towards the noise, fear abruptly filling me. I glanced back at him. “Let’s go.” He nodded quickly.

            I kept a light jog, flashlight bobbing in front of me as I went. I could hear Zach keeping pace behind me. The yell had been fairly distant, and as such I figured it had probably come from the second wing of the prison. I moved as quickly as I dared, hoping I could get there in time to stop whatever it was that was happening.

            I slowed to a halt once we entered the corridor. All four of the doors were closed, betraying no sign of activity from within. The ladder leading to the manhole at the other end of the hall was dark and obstructed from view. “Hello?” I called out, struggling to find my voice. “Is anyone there?”

            After a moment, the door to the recreational room swung open. Aaron stood there, eyes narrowed and expression vaguely haunted. “Hey,” he said, voice terse despite the relief in his eyes. “I found—it’s—there’s been a murder.”

            “Seriously?” I said. “Already?”

            He nodded, lips folded in a grimace. Zach sighed behind me.

            My heart sunk in dismay. I slowly walked towards the door, Aaron stepping to the side to let me through. My throat seemed to close up. I really didn’t want to do this again. We’d already had to deal with so much. But I had no choice—if I wanted to get answers, I was going to have to keep moving forward.

            My flashlight illuminated the room in a lurid display of blue. The light was reflected back at me in the dimly lit screens of the arcade machines, filling my eyes with color. I stopped on the Galaga machine—it would have been hard not to. For one thing the screen was cracked, and for another it was covered in blood. We hadn’t even gotten to the body yet.

            It took me a minute to recognize him, because the weapon was lodged in his skull—but none other than Jack was slung over the Galaga machine, Bree’s halberd resting on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's really nothing to say in the notes this time. That's pretty rare.


	11. 2.4 "Something of a Spotlight"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigation time.

Investigation

            I stumbled out of the doorway, swallowing painfully. My heart hurt and felt heavy in my chest. Aaron was looking at the ground, teeth grit and eyes narrowed; Zach looked crestfallen. I glanced away as the speakers turned on, Monobear’s voice echoing eerily in the darkness. “Hey, a body has been discovered! Head over to the rec room to take a look.”

            We all stood around in silence as we waited for the others to arrive. There was nothing to do or say. Jack was dead, and now we had to deal with it. It all felt simple and blunt. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was becoming numb to this sort of thing—or maybe I already was?

            Before long, everyone had gathered. There was much more space in the rec room than there’d been in Malcolm’s cell, so we all had little trouble filing inside and finding somewhere to stand. A ring of a good three feet naturally formed between Jack and everyone else. A few people cast their flashlights in his direction, creating something of a spotlight that further separating his body from the rest of us. I lowered my head, grimacing as Monobear walked in.

            “Looks like we’ve got another killer on our hands!” it said, sounding pleased. “I hope they’re ready to face all of you if they get caught. Or—who knows? Maybe they’ll get to leave before any of you can figure it out. You guys better get to work if you want another chance at getting answers.”

            No one had anything to say to the bear. It left with a light snicker, the door swinging silently closed behind it. Once Monobear was gone, however, the room quickly divulged into hushed conversation as people talked amongst themselves about what could have happened. I noticed Aaron glancing from side to side before he suddenly spoke up. “Hey!” he snapped. “Bree. Your halberd is… well, you can see it.”

            Everyone turned to Bree; someone’s light shone on her. She winced, blinking. “I-I-I don’t know why that’s there! I’ve been asleep the past few hours. I don’t know how it got here.”

            “So you’re saying you didn’t kill him?” AJ said from the other end of the room.

            She nodded, swallowing. “I don’t know how this happened.”

            “But how could your halberd have gotten out here?” Caehl asked, tone querulous. “Our doors lock automatically at night, so there’s no way someone could have stolen it from your room.”

            Bree rubbed at the back of her neck. “It’s possible that I might have… misplaced it. I didn’t really see the point in keeping track of the thing, since I’m not planning on killing someone.”

            “I don’t like how everyone is focusing on the halberd,” someone whispered behind me. I turned to see Ash standing there, their head lowered. “It seems too straightforward to me. Why would Bree leave her weapon there unless she was going to be up-front about being the killer? It doesn’t add up.” 

            “You think someone set her up?” I murmured back.

            Ash considered for a moment, seeming to hesitate. “I think that makes the most sense.”

            I raised my voice. “Hey, guys, don’t you think the halberd is a little… I dunno, stupidly obvious? I think Bree was framed.”

            Some of the others exchanged glances. “That _would_ make sense,” Laura conceded with a small nod. “But we can’t say for sure until we investigate.”

            “We also can’t say for sure that it _is_ Bree until we investigate,” Isabelle added, frowning.

            The conversation thinned out from there. I let out a small breath, glancing around as the others began to inspect the body or talk amongst themselves. Remembering the events of Malcolm’s murder, I pulled out my ElectroID to check for a new entry. Sure enough, there was a new Monobear file for Jack.

            _The victim is Jack Hands. His body was discovered draped over a broken arcade machine in the rec room. The victim died while the timer was on hour 108. The cause of death was a severe blow to the skull, delivered by a sharp, bladed weapon. There are some cuts and abrasions on his arms and upper torso from glass shards. There are no traces of poison or drugs._

“The lack of definitive weapon is noteworthy,” someone said from behind me. I turned to see Nikita hovering over me, ElectroID held loosely at her side. “It strongly supports the theory that Bree was framed.”

            I nodded absently, too numb to be surprised by her appearance. “So you think she was framed too?”

            She looked down, seeming to consider. “I think evidence heavily supports the idea. But further investigation is of course necessary.”

            I nodded as I thought about it, then looked up at her again. “So let me guess. You want to ‘accompany me on the investigation’, right?”

            She bobbed her head once, expression a little guarded.

            “Well, that’s alright,” I conceded, giving her a half smile. “I mean… it’s what you want every time, so who am I to say no?”

            Something about what I’d said seemed to have put her on high alert, because she suddenly studied me with a sharp, serious gaze. “If you don’t want me with you, then don’t allow me to come. I ask you because what happens is your decision. It isn’t a product of politeness.”

            “Uh,” I blinked, taken aback. “I’m not really sure I followed that logic. But seriously, I’m fine with it. I’m not just trying to be nice or anything.”

            Her gaze flicked away. “If you say so. You lead the way.”

            Unsure of how to respond, I figured I’d just stay silent and do as she’d asked. I weaved my way through a few people to get closer to the broken arcade machine, moving slowly. The various colors from everyone’s flashlights made my eyes swim as I struggled to focus on Jack’s body. He was slumped over the arcade machine, the tips of his shoes just touching the floor. His hair and the back of his head was a mass of blood: there were generous scatterings of it on his clothes and dotting his arms, too. He was about as far from peaceful-looking as you could get.

            My eyes wandered up to the halberd. It was still stuck in the wound in his head, the staff portion drawing a line down his spine towards the floor. It hovered about a foot off the ground at its base. Despite the massacre it had seemingly created, I couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful the weapon was. It sparkled as though carved of pure silver, twisting spirals and indistinct shapes carved all along both the staff and the blade. As I got closer, I took a better look at the blade itself: the front most part (the portion stuck in Jack’s skull) was a curved, sharp line, much like the blade of an axe. The back portion of the blade forked out into three sharp points, like a wing. A single point emerged from the weapon’s top.

            I heard a sigh and glanced to the side to see Bree standing there, frowning. “Hey,” I said. “You seem a little stressed.”

            She shrugged, expression bitter. “It’s just annoying that my weapon is here at the crime scene. I mean—I didn’t kill him. Why would it be here?”

            “You said you misplaced it?” I asked, studying her.

            She made a face. “I think I put it down in the cafeteria? I dunno. I must have fallen asleep again, because the next thing I remember is it being gone.”

            “So maybe the real culprit took it, and used it for the murder to set you up,” I mused aloud—then glanced back in her direction. “Or you’re lying to me.”

            “Honestly, why would I bother?” she muttered, frowning. “Who would do a murder _this_ obvious and then try to lie about it? That would be stupid.”

            I couldn’t help but think that she had a good point—but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I wandered a bit closer to Jack, straightening up to get a better look at the wound in his head. His skull was partially split. Luckily the gore wasn’t too visible underneath his mass of hair—but that didn’t stop my stomach from churning. As I stared, however, I began to notice something odd.

            “Hey,” someone said a little tentatively behind me. I turned to see Ari standing there, a frown on their face. “You look worried. Did you find something bad?”

            “Not… exactly,” I said, glancing back towards Jack. “It’s just… it looks like the halberd’s blade doesn’t line up with the injury. Like the blade is too big.”

            “Really?” they leaned in to get a better look. As they did, I studied it once again. Sure enough, although the blade was firmly lodged into his skull, there was a bit of space between the base of the split and the halberd’s blade. “Yeah, you’re right,” Ari said, sounding surprised. “It looks like this injury was made by a smaller weapon. The halberd’s blade is too wide to fit in it properly.”

            I frowned, making a face. “What else could have caused it?”

            “Another curved blade like Bree’s. Honestly, there’s quite a few weapons here that could fit that description.” Ari paused, frowning. “Actually… this might sound weird, but I think _Jack’s_ weapon would fit this injury perfectly.”

            “You think he was killed with his own weapon?” I said.

            They shrugged a little warily. “Maybe. I mean, that was just an idea. But now that I’m thinking about it, it seems really likely.”

            As Ari walked off, I paused my investigation to consider what this all might mean. It was seeming more and more likely that Bree was not the murderer. In fact, it was entirely possible that she had nothing to do with this at all. The real culprit could have easily stolen her weapon and propped it up here to make her look suspicious. Not wanting to jump to any conclusions, I moved my gaze over to the arcade machine’s screen.

            The screen had been badly shattered, glass in a cracked web that spread out from the center. Large pieces of glass were missing from the screen, presumably launched from its person upon impact. A ring of blood was visible near the screen’s center.

            “Nasty,” Isabelle murmured appreciatively as she leaned on the Ms. Pac-Man machine next to me. “It looks like the culprit smashed his head into the screen when they hit him.”

            “But why?” I muttered. “A massive blade to the head is more than enough to kill someone. They didn’t need to slam him into the glass along with that.”

            She shrugged. “Maybe it was just the force of it, rather than something intentional.”

            “Maybe,” I said, eyes wandering back to the screen. “But look at all this damage. These things are made of pretty thick glass, right? I can’t imagine all these shards flying and shit if the screen had just been hit on accident.”

            She frowned, then stood up to get a better look. “Hey, that’s a good point. I hadn’t thought of that. So you think the culprit slammed him into the thing on purpose? But why?”

            I shrugged. “Leverage for the weapon? A way to assure themselves of a successful kill? Aesthetic? Who knows, really.”

            “Well, it sounds pretty important to me,” she muttered. “We’ll have to figure it out.”

            I nodded in agreement as I turned back to the body. The only other thing worth note was the multitude of scratches and scars along his arms and back. Bits of glass were visible amongst his clothes and sticking out of his skin. I grimaced, arms tingling at the idea of getting sliced like that. “Hello Mads,” a voice said softly. I turned to see Natasha standing behind me, frowning.

            “Hey,” I said. “Is something wrong?”

            “Nothing beyond the obvious,” she muttered, nodding at Jack. “It looks like he was very badly hurt when that screen was smashed.”

            I nodded. “What’s weird about it is that the screen didn’t really _need_ to be smashed in the first place. But the culprit had to have done it on purpose, because it wouldn’t have been possible otherwise.”

            “Hmm,” she murmured, eyes narrowed as she studied the scene. “A thick screen like the ones on these arcade machines would need a great deal of force in order to be shattered. In fact, I don’t think the culprit could have done this with just Jack’s head—even if it was on purpose.”

            I frowned. “Then what could they have done?”

            She shook her head. “I wasn’t finished. It couldn’t have been done on purpose with just _one hit._ They would have had to slam his head into the screen twice.”

            “Really?” I said, glancing back towards the body.

            “I imagine the first hit would have created the initial cracks in the screen,” she said. “The next hit would have dislodged glass, creating the scars on his arms and body.”

            “That’s not a bad theory,” I said, nodding. “Thank you for telling me that.”

            She closed her eyes, lowering her head a little sagely. “Of course. I will do whatever is necessary to solve these murders.”

            I turned and took a few steps away from the body, wanting to distance myself in order to think. We had an unnamed murder weapon, a supposed framing, and a seemingly violent culprit. The case didn’t seem _too_ complicated, but it was still going to take some effort to solve. For one thing, I wasn’t entirely sure of where to go from here.

            As I was thinking, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Caehl was standing behind me, expression troubled as she occasionally cast it around the room. “Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”

            “I was talking with Ari, and she mentioned the whole thing about the weapon not matching the injury,” she said. “So I did a quick head count of everyone here and their weapons. There’s definitely some contenders, but it’s hard to say for sure which weapon it was.”

            “Do you think I should do a comparison?” I asked. “Like last time?”

            She nodded. “For sure. And I’d do it now, while everyone’s still in the area.”

            “Okay, good idea,” I said. “Any leads?”

            She made a face, hesitating a little. “I think I have an idea of whose weapon it might be. But it’s a little bit of a weird idea, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions just yet. So I definitely think we should do some comparisons before we start throwing out theories.”

            “Okay,” I said. “I’ll see what I can find.”

            Nikita took in a small breath as Caehl walked off. “This seems odd,” she said, voice low.

            “What do you mean?” I said.

            “It feels too straightforward,” she said. “I know we haven’t figured all that much out yet, but… this still feels quite simple. Something seems off about it.”

            “Maybe…” I said, glancing away. “I think it’s a little too early to say. For now we should just try to get this weapon figured out.”

            Unlikely combatants were quickly ruled out. Weapons like Ash’s bat, Laura’s chain, or the Seagraves’ guns were easy to pull out of the equation. Part of me was considering the possibility of yet another hidden weapon, but it didn’t seem likely. What sort of a culprit would be stupid enough to use a secret weapon right after the last person did? Plus, no one else’s weapon was really capable of hiding another one.

            In the end, there were only three likely weapons: Bree’s halberd, Caehl’s sickle, or Jack’s guitar. Caehl wasn’t too hard to find, and I quickly compared her weapon to the injury—just like the halberd, it didn’t match. That left nothing but Jack’s guitar.

            Trying to think this through, I took a seat on the couch in the rec room, placing my flashlight on the coffee table as I swallowed a deep breath. After a moment, I felt the weight of the couch cushions change, and turned to see that Zach had sat down next to me. “Hey,” I said, beginning to feel wary again now that all of the excitement had passed.

            “Hey,” he said, as sheepish as always. The blue of my flashlight pulled eerie colors over the pale white of his bandages. “You seem worried.”

            “Yeah, I guess,” I muttered. “It just seems like the murder weapon is Jack’s own guitar. It’s the only likely suspect that could fit the injury. But I don’t know where it is, so I can’t compare it.”

            Zach’s eyebrows raised. “I was thinking the same thing, actually. I asked around, but no one else knows where it is, either. Maybe the culprit hid it?”

            “It’s pretty likely,” I said. “Especially if it’s the murder weapon. In order to make their framing more obvious, they would have to have hidden the correct weapon.”

            “I definitely think we need to find it if we want to solve this case,” he said, nodding a little encouragingly.

            I nodded in agreement, thoughts wandering. “Hey,” I said. “Uh—I mean, there’s no way you’d want to kill someone a second time. Right?”

            His expression fell. “Mads, I was with you when the body was found. How could I have possibly killed Jack?”

            I shrugged. “I don’t know. Sorry. I just figured, since he took your eye out…”

            “Other people have reached the same conclusion,” he admitted as I trailed off. “So you’re not the first one to try asking.”

            My heart tightened in my chest. “Sorry.”

            “It’s okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It’s good to be suspicious in a place like this. Right?”

            “Right,” I said as he got up and walked off. The word felt hard and cold in my mouth.

            After another moment I got up and walked out into the hallway, Nikita following. I was eager to actually find something useful, and it seemed as though the rec room had already given all it could provide. Out in the hallway, I shone my light around, wondering where to go—the beam caught in Aaron’s eyes, making him put his hands up with a start.

            “Hey—Christ, I’m right here,” he said, vaguely trying to wave the light away. I lowered it, frowning at him. He took a breath. “Is something up?”

            “Sort of,” I said. “I did another weapon comparison, like last time, and none of the weapons match the killing blow. Not even the halberd. I think it might be Jack’s guitar that caused it, but no one knows where it is.”

            “Hmm,” he said, eyes narrowed as he thought about it. “I don’t know where it is either. Sorry, I wish I could be more helpful.”

            “Perhaps you can,” Nikita said, voice unexpected after such a long period of silence. “You were the first to discover the body, after all.”

            I looked over to see her studying him with narrowed eyes. Did she suspect him? This seemed sort of left-field to me, though I couldn’t figure out why. “Yeah,” I said, wanting to avoid any sort of awkward silence. “Could you tell us what happened in there?”

            He looked briefly troubled for a moment, lowering his gaze. “Uh. Well, I was taking a walk out here because I couldn’t sleep. It really wasn’t all that far into Night Time. I thought I’d maybe go in here and play some games or whatever, but then there was a fucking body in my way. So uh. No games, I guess.”

            Nikita’s eyebrows lowered so slightly that I almost didn’t notice it. “You simply couldn’t sleep? Forgive my prying, but this doesn’t seem like a likely excuse.”

            “I was just—” He stopped and ran a hand through his hair abruptly. “Listen, I’ve been losing a lot of sleep over this whole murder thing, okay? I really can’t tell you why the fuck I decided to wander down this exact path and stumble across Jack’s body. But it wasn’t intentional, alright? I didn’t kill him. Jesus.”

            “Okay, okay,” I said, taking a breath. “Everyone just chill the fuck out, okay? That’s Aaron’s story, and he’s obviously sticking to it. If it’s not true, then we’ll find out soon enough. One way or another.”

            “Of course,” Nikita said, looking away. What the fuck was up with her? Eager to get the hell out of this interaction, I quickly sidestepped Aaron and headed down the corridor towards the first wing.

            I got through the door easy enough, but stopped when I saw Jacob leaning against the wall nearby, fiddling with his pocketknife. His gaze was lowered and his expression thoughtful. “Hey,” I said at a distance, not wanting to startle him.

            He looked up. “Hey. Any luck figuring out the culprit?”

            “Sort of,” I said. “We’ve got a trail to follow, at least. Do you have anything to offer?”

            He shrugged. “Not really, but there is one thing I’m hung up on.” He closed his pocketknife and put it away, retrieving his ElectroID in the process. “The Monobear file says that Jack was murdered on the 108th hour. That was right when Night Time started.”

            “ _Maybe_ it was,” I cautioned him, frowning. “An hour is a lot of time, after all.”

            “True,” he said. “But still. It seems weird to me that the culprit would choose to strike so early. Like they were really trying to cover their own tracks.”

            I nodded. “You’re right. And it supports the theory that Bree was framed.”

            He sighed a little restlessly. “Honestly, I don’t even think that’s a theory anymore. With all the evidence supporting it, it might as well be fact.”

            “Maybe,” I said. At least I hoped so—it would mean that our investigation so far had been leading us in the right direction.

            After my conversation with Jacob, I’d planned on heading to the cafeteria. But before I could get there, the sound of pounding footsteps made me pause, casting my flashlight across the empty hall. Nikita flicked hers in the opposite direction, clearly on high alert. After a moment I could see Ash running towards me from across the darkness and relaxed, sensing no danger—but certainly some urgency.

            “Mads!” they cried as they got closer. “I was hoping I might find you. Kayla and I… there’s something weird in one of the rooms.”

            “Show me,” I said.

            They set a quick pace across the hall and towards the cells, wasting no time as they turned the corner to the room in question. As we got closer, I was startled to see that Bree’s door was wide open, purple light wavering around the corridor as Kayla stood guard over the room. She flicked the flashlight towards us and then down again as we approached. “Hello, Mads,” she said. “Nice of you to join us.”

            “What’s Bree’s door doing open?” I asked. “The students’ cells automatically lock at night. Hers should be closed, and she should be the only person capable of opening it.”

            “We think it got left open somehow,” Ash said, eyebrows knitting together as they walked past me and towards the room.

            “Or perhaps the culprit set it up this way on purpose,” Kayla added with a bit of a wondrous tone. I kept up with Ash’s pace so I could look inside. To my supreme chagrin, I saw Jack’s guitar sitting on her bed, a gore of blood decorating the body’s blade and much of the guitar itself.

            “What the fuck?” I snapped. “Did the culprit seriously think we would fall for this? Just leaving shit like the murder weapon out in Bree’s room. This is the worst framing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Also the only. But I didn’t bother mentioning that.

            “It _is_ pitifully obvious,” Kayla said, bobbing her head in agreement. “But at the very least we now know for certain what the murder weapon was.”

            I walked in and picked up the guitar, studying the blade with a bitter frown. I heard Ash speak up behind me, a grimace in their voice. “There is something else we found, though. Something a little weird.”

            “What?” I asked, turning to face them.

            “There’s blood in Bree’s sink,” they said, nodding towards it. Sure enough, an obvious stain of red ringed the porcelain around the sink’s drain. “If Bree was framed, then how did the blood get in here?”

            “The same question stands for how the culprit managed to get her door open,” Kayla muttered. “It’s plausible that they washed their hands off in her sink, but how did they get the door open in the first place? That’s the real mystery.”

            “Good point,” I said, my frown deepening. “I’ll have to look into it. Thanks for showing me this, guys.”

            “Of course,” Kayla said.

            As we walked back out into the hall, Nikita spoke up. “I can’t think of much else we could find,” she said. “I think we should try to talk through the murder from here.”

            “Good idea,” I said. “Want to go to the cafeteria?”

            “Lead the way,” she said with a nod.

            It was a short walk, and at this point we both knew the way well. Once we’d entered, I was happy I’d chosen the cafeteria—it gave us an excuse to look at the timer again. It was currently at 102.23.04: about halfway through Night Time. I recalled what Jacob had said with a grimace. It was seeming more and more likely that the culprit had planned this murder ahead of time, taking the measures necessary to execute it quickly and well before anyone would notice.

            I sat down at one of the nearest cafeteria tables, Nikita taking a seat across from me. I could see Laura hovering near the kitchen counter at the other side of the room, but for the time being she didn’t seem too interested in us. “Let’s go through what we have,” Nikita murmured.

            “Okay,” I said, taking a breath. “It looks like the culprit framed Bree for their murder, stealing her halberd and somehow unlocking her cell door in order to push as much evidence as possible on her. They used Jack’s guitar to _actually_ kill him, and then propped the halberd up in its place to make it look like it was the real murder weapon.”

            “And what was odd about the crime scene?” she asked.

            I paused to consider. “Mostly the arcade machine that Jack was killed on. The glass had shattered and he’d been hit by a lot of it. It would have taken more than one hit on the machine in order to break it like that.”

            “Hmm,” Nikita said, lowering her gaze. “I think these two things could be related. After all, the culprit would have had to actually take the guitar from Jack in order to kill him with it. Perhaps a struggle ensued?”

            I thought about it. “Maybe. But it seems sort of arbitrary that the arcade machine would have been broken in the process. I think Jack must have been standing behind it already.”

            “You mean he was playing on it,” she said.

            I made a face. “That would make the most sense. And then the culprit snuck up on him and slammed his head into the glass—probably to knock him out. With him unconscious, they could take the guitar and go for the kill.”

            “Assuming the actual killing blow also hit the machine, that would make two hits,” she said. “According to Natasha, this would be enough to break the glass.”

            “Yep, sounds like it,” I said. “So the culprit used something else—maybe their own weapon—to knock Jack out by slamming his head into the arcade machine. Then they took his guitar and killed him with it, and put Bree’s halberd in its place in order to frame her. They also somehow unlocked her door, and hid Jack’s guitar in there to make her look even more suspicious.”

            “They also cleaned themselves up using her sink, leaving bloodstains behind,” she added. “I imagine this was intentional, in order to further the suspicion towards her.”

            “But how did they get inside?” Laura’s voice said at my side.

            I turned to face her, startled. “Oh—hey. I didn’t hear you come up.”

            She half-shrugged. “I was listening to most of it. Do you guys know how the culprit got into Bree’s room?”

            “We don’t,” I admitted. “In fact, I think that’s the only thing about this case we _don’t_ know.”

            Nikita nodded once in agreement. “The circumstances of the case—such as how it was performed at the start of Night Time—suggest that the culprit prepared for this well in advance.”

            “Yeah, good point,” Laura said. “It at least explains how the culprit was able to catch Jack in there. Why else would he be playing a game? Night Time had just started, so he was probably only a few minutes away from heading back to his room for the night.”

            “But the culprit was waiting for him,” she murmured.

            “Okay,” I said. “We’ve got a pretty clear order of events, but I’m still confused as to why the culprit tried to frame Bree. The framing was obvious from the start, and most of the ‘evidence’ they tried to create against her seems to contradict itself—like the blood in the sink or the door they shouldn’t have been able to open. It sounds to me like this culprit was kind of panicked.”

            “Yeah,” Laura said. “And that doesn’t make sense—because like you said, all the other evidence suggests that the culprit planned this ahead of time.”

            I swallowed. “You know—okay, this _is_ kind of a hunch. But… has anyone seen AJ since Jack’s body was found?”

            “I have not,” Nikita said slowly.

            I looked down. “I don’t know… I mean, we’ve seen her have some mood swings before, what with her trying to accuse Zach and everything. It seems to me like she’s really suspicious here. I could see her planning this whole elaborate thing ahead of time, but then panicking once she’d actually killed Jack. And, because she panicked, she ruined her own plans.”

            “And she _is_ missing,” Laura said tentatively. “It does seem really weird.”

            “I think we should find her and try to talk to her,” Nikita said.

            I was going to respond, but as if on cue, the door opened. Laura scrambled for her flashlight and quickly shone it towards the entrance—sure enough, AJ was standing there, eyes wide and startled by the sudden light. “Hey—” I yelled. She immediately took off.

            Nikita was on her feet without a word. I quickly followed, the two of us chasing AJ out into the corridor. Faster than I expected, Nikita grabbed AJ’s arm and used her momentum to propel herself past the fleeing suspect, feet skidding across the slate gray ground. I came to a stop a few feet away from them.

            “O-Okay!” AJ said, lowering her head and trying to pull away from Nikita. “Stop! I killed him, okay? I killed Jack.”

            My shoulders lowered, startled at how quickly she conceded. “Jeez… but why?”

            “To… to get out!” she snapped. “Why else? Will you get her to let the fuck go of me?”

            I glanced at Nikita. Seeing my expression, she loosened her grip on AJ’s arm, watching the other girl carefully to see if she would try and make another run for it. “I’m not gonna take off,” she snarled, tone surly. “You’ve figured out it was me, so why would I?”

            I didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. “Why did you try to frame Bree like that? It didn’t even make any sense.”

            Her eyebrows creased together. “I just—it was just… I thought it might confuse you. That was all.”

            I frowned. “But you’re smarter than that. Come on, I’ve seen you. You’re way more observant than a lot of the people here.” I wasn’t lying—she’d figured out that Zach was the culprit, after all, despite it being based almost entirely on a hunch.

            “So I—panicked,” she said lowly. “That’s it. I just panicked and fucked up.”

            I stared at her, frowning. Something about this didn’t feel right. Seeing my expression, AJ’s eyes widened. “Hang on,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that, okay? I can explain why I did it, alright? Jack’s cell is right by mine, so it made sense, okay? See, I uh… know all these secrets now…”

            But I wasn’t buying it anymore. Not even a little bit. “You lied for them!” I snapped. “You lied for the culprit. You’re their accomplice.”

            She paled. “No—fuck, just listen—”

            My jaw clenched, eyeing her darkly. She fell silent.

            “Hmm,” Nikita said, expression one of vague surprise. “It seemed as though the culprit tried to further convolute this by having someone help them. It suggests an explanation for the confusing attempt at a framing. But who is really responsible, then?”

            I grit my teeth. The answer seemed so glaring that it made me want to punch myself in the face. “Oh, I know _exactly_ who it is,” I muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer is acting up, so this one almost didn't get posted. But I'm over at Jae's house and there was time to borrow her computer. I don't know when mine will be fixed, however. Hopefully soon. 
> 
> When it DOES get fixed, I will amend the indent issues on this chapter's paragraphs. Jae doesn't have Microsoft Word and the AO3 editor is refusing to work with me, so there wasn't much I could do. Apologies for the inconvenience. It was either I post it now, or make you wait at least a week, and I'm not a fan of the former. 
> 
> EDIT: Computer had to be wiped, but is working again. Spacing's been fixed.
> 
> Not much to say about this one. I think it speaks for itself.


	12. 2.5 "For a Moment"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long break for Comicon, Aaron visiting, my computer getting a corrupted file, Office 2013 no longer existing, and some other things, we're back with the end of Chapter 2!
> 
> EDIT: the spacing is FUCKING BROKEN AGAIN I HATE MICROSOFT 2010
> 
> EDIT EDIT: I respaced the whole thing manually. You're welcome.

Trial

            I immediately turned away from AJ and ran towards the cells, Nikita following after a brief shadow of a second. I was determined to find the culprit before it was too late. It turned out, however, that my search wouldn’t even be necessary. I nearly ran into the culprit on my way through the prison, completely startled to find her with a backpack slung over her shoulder, walking towards the center of the empty hall. I skidded to a stop and turned to face her, quickly grabbing her arm.

            She stiffened somewhat in surprise, but didn’t pull away. “Um… yes? Is there something you need?”

            I let out a low breath. “I know you’re the killer, Bree.”

            Bree’s eyebrows lowered into something of a conciliatory look. “Okay. What’s your evidence?”

            “Come on,” I snapped. “Do you think I’m an idiot? You framed yourself and used AJ as the scapegoat. You set up all the evidence so that you would look _too_ suspicious, which made everyone automatically think it _wasn’t_ you. Then you put all these pieces of evidence in place to make everyone think it was AJ, instead. But it was always you from the beginning.”

            “If that _was_ something I did,” she said, seemingly suppressing the urge to grin. “It certainly would have been very smart of me.”

            “So am I right or not?” I said.

            She shrugged. “I dunno. You’re the one accusing me. So you tell me if you’re right.”

            I made a face. “Don’t fuck around with me, Bree. Did you kill Jack or didn’t you?”

            In a moment her eyes narrowed. She looked suddenly and unexpectedly serious. “Yes,” she said. “I killed him. But—and I’m sure you’ve heard this from Zach—he was already dead.”

            I paused, staring at her. Part of me had been expecting to hear the same thing out of her mouth that I’d heard from Zach—but I hadn’t expected her to be so forward about it. Plus, how did she know that Zach was Malcolm’s killer? We’d been keeping that a secret. I took a breath. “How do you—?”

            “Know about Zach?” she finished for me. “I haven’t gotten any secret information about it or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was just… a little obvious, don’t you think? When you really crunch the numbers, it’s not like it could have been anyone else. Everyone’s just so hesitant to condemn one of their peers. We want to be able to trust each other. Or at least pretend that we can.”

            “So—what?” I snapped. “You just went on a hunch?”

            She shrugged. “I had my theories. It’s not like it’s that relevant, anyway. After I killed Jack, a lot of things started to make more sense. And I can make some assumptions as to how Zach feels about this situation, too.”

            I stared at her, unsure of what to say. She was giving me the same story that Zach had: this admission that the victim had already been dead. I’d seen Malcolm’s real death, so I had every reason to believe that something similar could have happened to Jack. This war that they had been in… had Bree been in it too? What about the rest of us?

            I was quiet for several long seconds. “Got any other questions?” Bree finally asked.

            She was being so up-front about it that I wasn’t really sure _what_ to say. Nikita was here to pick up the slack, however. “And why did you pick AJ as your accomplice?” she asked. “How did you convince her to go along with such a thing?”

            Bree sighed, glancing away. “If I’m gonna be honest, it was totally on accident. I hadn’t planned on having an accomplice at all. It was completely by chance—AJ heard me when I got up to follow Jack to the rec room. But when she confronted me, it wasn’t to call me out. She said she wanted to help.”

            “You can’t possibly be trying to convince me that it was all her idea,” I said, recalling AJ’s panicked reaction to us mere moments ago.

            She shrugged again. “Believe me or don’t, it’s up to you. I’m just here to fill in the blanks.”

            “Fine, just—forget it,” I huffed. “Why did you frame yourself? If you’d planned on being this much of a dick about it from the beginning, then I really don’t see the point in trying to hide your identity at all.”

            At this, she huffed, leaning against the nearby wall. “Yeah, I know. But I started, um… sort of remembering things after I killed him. I was worried that it would be difficult for me to talk to anyone about it. I imagine Zach hasn’t been very conversational about the subject, right?”

            I nodded a little warily.

            “Well, that’s why,” she said. “The stuff the two of us have remembered isn’t easy to… explain. I wanted to avoid any awkward encounters, so I took the necessary steps to hide my identity as a culprit.”

            “But why frame yourself like that?” Nikita asked.

            “Because I saw how smart you two were with Malcolm’s murder!” she announced, saying it as though it were the most obvious thing ever. “I knew if I went for a simple cover-up, you guys would see right through it. So I tried to make things more complicated. And it almost worked, didn’t it?”

            “Yeah, I guess,” I muttered. I _had_ been pretty convinced that it was AJ. “So that whole stunt she just did where she ran from the cafeteria—that was planned?”

            Bree nodded. “And it was all her plan, too. I don’t know why she wanted to do all this shit. You’ll have to ask her about it. I was just happy for the help, so I went with it.”

            “Okay…” I said. I was still pretty annoyed about her attitude about it, though. “But what happened, exactly?”

            “I’ll explain,” she said.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _It was late at night. The sort of late at night where the shadows of things seem to move on their own and music played backwards starts sounding profound. The sort where you planned on falling asleep three hours ago but then you started thinking about the world; about the future, about what you wanted to do with yourself, about your last relationship (the one that didn’t go well), about what other people think of you. And then it feels like you’ll never sleep again._

_Jack didn’t think of himself as the sort that was often victim to thoughts of mortality. He liked to keep himself grounded. He believed that dwelling in dark places for too long was something that invited danger. And hell, he’d seen it play out in his own life a million times before—when his anger pushed him to the brink and drove him to do something stupid. If he stayed level-headed and didn’t think about how mad he was, he had a better chance of controlling it._

_But tonight, it seemed, was a night that was out of his control. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on Zach’s face after his eye had been stabbed; the expression of pain that contorted his features into something unfamiliar and alien. And it was making him angry. Angry at himself, for letting things escalate as far as they had._

_He needed to cool off—to drown his thoughts out with something mindless and distracting. Luckily, the new wing of the prison they’d unlocked provided him with a solution: the arcade machines. A few games of Galaga, and chances were he’d be too focused on strategy to worry about his more personal problems._

_He didn’t realize that he was being followed. Even if he had, it probably wouldn’t have changed anything. There was never any point where the other students registered to him as something that could be potentially dangerous; if anything, he saw them as_ less _dangerous than he was. So even if he had, at any point, turned around and seen Bree tailing him, he probably wouldn’t have thought much of it._

_It was a short walk to the second wing, made long and empty by the blackness of the corridors and the wavering pink light of his flashlight. The door to the rec room—just like the door to every other room in this prison—was absolutely silent as he opened it. The lights of the four arcade machines, all turned on and idle, lit the room up in a lurid display of color. He turned his flashlight off; he put his guitar down next to the machine, propping it up against its side. Eyes slowly adjusting, he brought his gaze up to the Galaga screen, and studied it in silence for a long moment._

_The instant his thoughts began to wander back to those dark places, he pressed start. He died pretty quickly—but immediately restarted, and lasted much longer the next time. He was beginning to relax, at the very least physically._

_He must have gone through four or five games when his senses alerted him that something was wrong. He briefly flicked his gaze up towards the door, and didn’t see anything. A few glances in the other direction revealed Bree and AJ standing behind the rec room’s couch, talking in low and hushed tones. Bree looked somewhat startled—or at the very least taken aback. Jack wasn’t sure what to make of it, but it was in his nature to assume that it had nothing to do with him. It was probably a very serious conversation regarding personal things. Why else would it be taking place so late at night, in such a seemingly awkward location? It was none of his business._

_His mistake wasn’t in thinking this, rather, but in_ believing _it._

_Within a few minutes he was once again focused on the game. And this time, his concentration didn’t break—not until it was too late, at least. He was on his last life, in the midst of dodging some heavy gunfire, when his gaze caught the reflection in the machine’s screen—just in time for him to watch the base end of Bree’s halberd come crashing down towards his skull._

_His eyes widened. He made to pull away, but was nowhere near fast enough. The weapon struck his skull. Pain bloomed in the back of his head, then in the front of it as his forehead collided with the game’s screen. Glass cracked, but didn’t give way._

_He fell forward, slumping against the machine in a daze. He wasn’t unconscious, but might as well have been. His brain seemed to have forgotten what it needed to do to move the rest of him. In the midst of this chaos, he heard the sound of his guitar scraping against the machine as someone lifted it. He was abruptly angry, but in too much of a stupor to do anything about it._

_Searching for context, his eyes wandered up to the now-cracked arcade screen. The image of his little red and white spaceship sailing steadily towards its demise flickered on and off as the machine struggled to continue working. Amidst the flashes, he could see Bree’s reflection, standing behind him with the guitar raised. It was too dark to see her eyes._

_For a moment all he could think of was how frustrated he was with himself for letting this happen—but only for a moment. Then his thoughts began moving too fast for the rest of him, connecting little things. He was remembering something. Something big. But—he realized as the guitar’s axe began its descent—he didn’t have enough time to find out what it was. And in the next moment, the blade was parting his skull._

_Strangely, the last thing Jack thought of before he died was the smell of flowers._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

           Bree recounted the details of the murder to me, expression steady and unwavering the whole time. It seemed, in fact, as though she lacked any shred of remorse for the situation entirely. By the end, my stomach was churning. “Okay, seriously,” I said once she was finished, resisting the urge to growl the words. “How can you say such shit without reacting to it? You _killed_ someone and you’re just giving me the details like it was no big deal.”

            To my surprise, her expression softened. “Oh, I’ll break down over this eventually. I’m sure of it. But I have to save face around you guys. I don’t want what might be the last time you see me to be a version of me that’s sniffling and in tears. I’ve gotta put on a show, you know?”

            “No,” I snapped. “I don’t.”

            At that she looked a little dismayed. “Come on Mads, you’re smart. Think about it. I’m the murderer, and when I leave in a little while, everyone is gonna know that for sure. If I’m crying and sniffling and panicked and a wreck, they’re not gonna know what to think. But if I’m headstrong and cool about it, then they know exactly what to think: that I was a horrible person.” I was about to respond, but she put her hand up to stop me. “And that may or may not be true. That doesn’t matter. What matters is that they think it.”

            “Why?” I said.

            “Because it makes this simple,” Nikita said, surprising me. I turned to see her studying Bree with dark eyes. “The simpler this is for the others to understand, the easier it will be for them to act.”

            “What—you mean—” I spun to face Bree again. “You _want_ to get the rest of us to kill each other?”

            “It won’t make sense right now,” she said. “I mean, of course it won’t. You don’t know what I do. But I think you’ll understand it later, okay? I know you have what’s necessary to figure this whole mess out.”

            I was going to respond, but then the invisible speakers clicked to life, their finality as jarring as ever. Monobear’s voice rang out: “Alright, investigation time is over. I’m going to escort the culprit out of here now. If you’re interested in seeing ‘em leave, come to the main hall in the first wing of the prison.”

            That was, of course, where we were standing now. I looked over to Bree. “I already talked to Monobear,” she said, catching my gaze. “Just had to get my stuff together. Now it’s time to go.”

            I swallowed. “What if it’s a trap? What if Monobear has been lying to us this whole time?”

            She shrugged a little stiffly. “I’ve already killed someone. We’re sort of past the point of commitment here. But… trust me, nothing like that is gonna happen. Monobear’s been telling the truth.”

            I looked up in time to see the bear rounding the corner of the cafeteria and walking towards the center of the hall. As he did so, I heard a soft, almost imperceptible grind of gears from beneath me—and then a wide, empty hole into darkness opened up in the middle of the floor. It seemed as though the middle section of the floor had in fact consisted of two panels that slid together near seamlessly. They must have been controlled by some remote that the mastermind had activated as the bear walked over.

            After a moment the three of us began to walk closer, wary. The hole led into a darkness that was somehow even darker than the already-pitch black around us. Bree and I both pulled out our flashlights—they seemed to be incapable of cutting through the dark. I was reminded of the darkness that had surrounded me when I’d entered that hooded figure’s simulation.

            A few seconds later, an object moved up towards us through the darkness. It was a simple stone platform lined with a metal guard rail. “It’s a—service elevator,” Bree murmured, seemingly to herself. She looked up towards Monobear. “Am I supposed to go down here?”

            The thing nodded, eye gleaming.

            “What?” I snapped, stunned. “How does that make sense? We know the prison is underground, and Bree should be able to leave it now. So what is she going to gain from going _further_ underground?”

            It waved me away. “Kill someone if you want an answer to that question.”

            “It’s okay,” Bree said, catching me off guard. “I think I understand what’s going on. Even if I don’t, I’ll still be fine. So you don’t have to worry.”

            I shook my head at her, mystified. Other students had begun to gather. They were all looking at and inspecting the elevator with similar expressions of suspicion. Glancing to the side, I saw Aaron standing a few feet off from me, looking particularly concerned about how closely I was standing next to Bree. AJ was nearby, studying the elevator in a bitter silence.

            “Well,” the bear said. “Bree Whipple was the culprit. So they get to leave now! Any last comment anyone has for her?”

            A murmur ran through the crowd, but nothing in particular stood out. Everyone seemed to be quite distrustful of Bree—and I realized that I was receiving a few suspicious looks as well, since I’d been here with her from the beginning.

            Monobear nodded in her direction. “Whenever you’re ready,” it murmured.

            Bree spared me one glance, bobbed her head a little conspiratorially, and then stepped onto the platform. There was a brief moment of silence—and then the thing quietly began to descend, taking her with it. Simultaneously, the panels over the opening began to slide closed.

            “H-Hang on,” I said, quickly taking a few steps closer. “I forgot to ask you—why did you pick Jack?”

            “Huh?” she looked confused, shadows rapidly warping over her face as the panels closed. “Oh, I thought Zach had told you about that already.”

            “Told me about what?”

            She frowned, realizing that I genuinely had no idea what she was talking about. “Didn’t someone come and talk to Zach before he killed Malcolm? Come and tell him what to do?”

            “Not that I know of,” I said, startled. “That happened to you?”

            “They—said they’d talked to Zach…” she looked troubled, but her expressions were becoming harder to read as she fell further and further away from me. “I don’t understand why he wouldn’t have told you about this… a person came to me and told me that I needed to kill Jack.”

            I knelt on the ground to get closer to her. “What sort of person?” I called down.

            “I-I don’t—they didn’t let me see their face…”

            “But—wait! When did they meet you? Why? Did they give you any information about who they were?”

            “It was probably the mastermind, but I can’t say for sure,” she said. Her voice was far away and I had to strain to hear her.

            “But… who would…” I swallowed.

            “Sorry, Mads,” she called up to me, sounding genuinely apologetic about it. “There’s no time—”

            The panels slid shut. She was gone. 

            There was a moment of tomb-like silence after the panels closed. It briefly felt as though the air had left the room. And then everyone began talking at once, murmuring to each other in nervous and agitated tones. I heard footsteps behind me; I stood up and turned around to see Nikita standing there, frowning. “That was unexpected,” she murmured.

            “Zach didn’t mention anything like that,” I said, shaking my head absently. “Maybe she made it up?”

            “I don’t see why,” she said. “But I suppose it is possible.”

            There wasn’t much else to say—and even if there was, we wouldn’t have had time for it. Monobear soon raised its voice, teeth bared as it spoke. “Hey! All you bastards need to head back to your cells now. I’ve got to clean up this whole murder Bree left. I’ll put a message over the intercom when you can come back out again.”

            Without any other option, the others began to disperse. Nikita and I watched them in silence for a moment before she turned to me with a nod. “I will speak with you about this later, Madison.”

            “Yeah,” I said, teeth grit.

            I took my time heading back to the cells, waiting until the others had all walked past me. I was wondering if another one of those locked cells would be open for me to go through. I glanced at Momo’s on my way by, but it wasn’t open. Neither were the two I passed on the way down the hall. I definitely didn’t want to see even _more_ upsetting things, but I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Just to be safe, I rounded the corner and checked the other end of the hall.

            Sure enough, one of the doors was cracked open. I glanced around to confirm that the others were already in their cells, then slowly walked over. The name on the door was Dexter Lessman. I studied his portrait again, his expression level and serious. Then I took a deep breath and stepped through the door.

            Just like before, I was immediately enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. My eyes struggled and failed to adjust in the endless black. Just as panic was beginning to crawl up my throat, the scenery immediately sprung to life around me, making me wince. I didn’t find myself in bright daylight like last time, however. It was nighttime—a dark blue blanket of stars enveloped the sky above me, the full, bright moon visible just over the crest of a distant hill. I was standing in what appeared to be a meadow. Turning around revealed the sharp, distant lights of a city, not too far away. Crickets chirped steadily in the darkness. Besides this, all was still and quiet.

            “You made it,” a voice said. I turned again to see the hooded figure from before standing a few paces away from me, expression unreadable beneath her dark black hood. “Part of me thought you wouldn’t come.”

            “I want to know what happened,” I said, trying to keep my voice flat—but I sounded nervous and skittish to my own ears.

            “Good,” she said. “Let’s go, then.”

            “Wait,” I said, my strength returning. “Maybe I’m not so sure about this anymore. I have some questions first.”

            “There isn’t much I can answer,” she murmured almost warily.

            “But… something about this doesn’t add up,” I said, studying the grass for answers that I couldn’t find there. “You’re trying to help me, I guess, but you won’t tell me who you are or how you’re doing any of this. How do I know you’re not the mastermind, just trying to mislead me? Or—Bree told me before she left that someone had told her to murder Jack. What if that was you, huh? What if you, as the mastermind, are responsible for _all_ of that? How do I know I can trust you?”

            She studied me for a long moment, lips folded into a thin line. Then she said, “You don’t.”

            I stared.

            “You’re asking me questions I can’t answer,” she said. “I can only show you things, at least for now. It’s up to you to come up with the solutions. I promise you that I won’t lie—but you might not believe that. It’s true, though. Everything I’ll say to you or show you is true. It’s up to you to decide whether you trust me or not.”

            “That’s not much of an assurance,” I muttered.

            “I know,” she said, but then smiled. “You’re curious, though. I think you’d come along even if I told you I _was_ the mastermind.”

            I didn’t respond because I didn’t want her to know that she was right.

            “Now let’s hurry,” she said. “Or we’ll be late.”

            “To what?”

            “The party,” she said, then took off down the hill, heading in the direction of the city. I hastened to follow.

            She kept a brisk pace, jogging a few feet ahead of me with her arms pumping. The city wasn’t very far away—within a few minutes we were at its outskirts, where the hooded figure seemed content to stay. She led me along the edge of several buildings and past a long stretch of fence. At one corner, she abruptly turned, and then slowed—I looked around to see that we were now in a large clearing, like a park. Near the center was a huge industrial building, and from its innards emerged the sound of heavy, thumping techno music. The park itself had paved sidewalks leading to the building from all directions, and between these, long patches of grass and flowers.

            I glanced towards the figure; she nodded her head in the direction of the park’s outskirts, a few yards behind us. I turned to see none other than Bree crouched against the side of the park’s outer fence, eyes narrowed as she studied the building in silence. Her halberd was low in one hand, partially resting in the grass.

            “What’s she doing?” I asked, remembering that she couldn’t see us.

            “Watch,” the figure said.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _There was no wind out that night, which made the air feel dead and empty. The moon was full, and shone like a beacon, making Bree nervous. If she spent too long in its light, someone dangerous would surely notice her. It was also a little nippy out, but this didn’t bother her nearly as much. She was rarely bothered by cold weather—she didn’t like it, but she didn’t mind it, either. It was in fact something that she hardly ever noticed._

_Situations like this one were particularly tricky. She had no idea who had organized this party, or what purpose it was meant to serve. Some of the higher-up members of Super High School Level Despair were known for putting on lascivious, wild parties like this one to tempt new members into their ranks. But that didn’t necessarily mean that this party was one of those. It could easily be of a more innocent nature, too._

_After several minutes of watching, Bree determined that she had little choice but to walk up to the entrance and see what would happen. A few stragglers were heading towards the party, and although all of them were armed, only the occasional passerby seemed to carry anything that would suggest the extravagant army of Junko Enoshima. It appeared to be mostly safe—or at least as safe as something like this could get. She got to her feet and made for the sidewalk, keeping her stride steady and unhurried._

_Normally, Bree would do whatever was possible to avoid a gathering like this. They usually almost always spelled out trouble. But tonight was a night of exceptions. Since the day he’d disappeared, about 11 months into the war, Bree had been doing nothing but searching for her friend Dexter. He had Type 1 diabetes—the worst kind there is. His last post on the group message boards had informed everyone that he was running low on insulin, and was planning on going out into enemy territory to look for some. And then, not a word. He completely disappeared._

_Bree refused to believe that he had died. She knew him far better than anyone else, and she knew that he was simply too strong to go out like this. There had to be more to the story. And now, more than five months after his disappearance, with the war almost a year and a half strong, she’d received an anonymous message on the board. It had told her, very simply, to come to this party and meet with the sender._

_No one knew who had created this message forum, but it was only open to herself and 36 other Dangan Ronpa fans. That meant that one of them had to have sent her that message. Although it was illogical of her to think it, her first thought was that Dexter must have sent it. Who else among her friends would want to meet her like this? Plus, this party was located in near the Idaho border in Oregon—Dexter’s home state. She had to believe it was him. So she’d decided to come and see for sure._

_As she got closer to the building, she found it difficult to keep her cool. She hadn’t so much as seen a picture of Dexter since the war began, and she missed him terribly. They were best friends. He was the only person who she could trust unconditionally. She had to find him, or else what was the point?_

_Her excitement, however, was not strong enough to overwhelm her sense of caution. As she got closer she slowed her pace, taking a better look at the building. It was a long, stout brick structure that suggested a warehouse or industrial facility of some sort. The entrance was in fact a driveway with the door pulled up, allowing a fairly decent view of the inside. Bree could see a table with food, brightly flashing lights, and what must have been at least two hundred people; all dancing and talking and trying to forget about their worries for a little while. There was a bouncer at the door: he looked to be around her age, with light brown skin and dark brown hair. He wore a bright red nametag with KEVIN printed on it in bold letters._

_There were a few people ahead of her, approaching the entrance—but one person in particular, coming from an opposite path than her, made her stiffen in surprise. She almost didn’t believe it at first, but the guitar slung over his back gave him away. It was Jack._

_Keeping to the shadows around the corner of the building, she listened as he approached the bouncer. “Hi!” the bouncer said brightly. “What’s your name?”_

_“Tekage,” Jack lied, the fake name sending a thrill through Bree. Jack and his brother Sam had used fake names for much of the first half of the war—Tekage and Kamikiku. But after Sam died, Jack had stopped using the name for anything other than emergencies. The fact that he was using it now wasn’t doing much to give this situation credit._

_“Interesting name,” Kevin replied. “And accent! You from across the pond?”_

_“Yes,” Jack said lowly. “Not like it’s any of your business.”_

_“Alright, alright dude, chill,” he responded, and then to Bree’s surprise, laughed. “I just want to make sure you’re not here to cause any trouble. This party’s supposed to be a peaceful zone, alright? You can bring your weapon in, because this_ is _still a war, but I don’t want any funny business out of you. We’re all just here to enjoy ourselves. Think you can handle that?”_

_Jack was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he said finally._

_“Alright, cool. Just sign in first, please.”_

_Jack’s appearance was an unexpected surprise. For a moment, a feeling of dismay filled her: had_ he _been the one to send her that message? But that wouldn’t make any sense. What would someone like Jack need her for? In fact, up until now, Bree had thought that Jack hadn’t even left England. And for good reason, too—fighting had yet to break out in England. It was in fact one of the only places left in the world that hadn’t been consumed by despair. The airports there were open, but all the flights were one-way: if you left, you were leaving for good. So why would Jack give up his safety to come here?_

_She thought again of his brother, Sam. He had been in a bus that was driven off of a cliff several months prior. No one knew for sure if the incident had been caused by any members of Super High School Level Despair, but if it had been then that would make it the only reported case of despair in all of England. It had been a worrying event not only for Jack and his family, but also for the rest of the world. Still, even with his brother dead, Jack had been safe. So what was he doing here?_

_Bree let a few people go ahead of her in line, not yet wanting Jack to know of her presence. When she did finally approach the bouncer, she did so with a smile. He whistled appreciatively when he saw her. “That is quite the halberd you got there, ma’am,” he said. “Looks like it cost a fortune.”_

_She shook her head, grinning. “Got it in a raid. It was a really good find.”_

_“No kidding,” he said. “So who are you, then?”_

_“Bree,” she said. “Is there anything you can tell me about this party?”_

_“Sure! What do you want to know?”_

_“Well, who’s putting it on, for starters.”_

_“Gigi Nobbs,” Kevin said brightly. At her look of surprise, he added, “You might better know this individual as Kibougamine’s Cat. That’s been something of a nickname for them. Pretty famous, at least as far as war celebrities go—but nobody actually knows who they are! Boy, girl, cat, human… no one knows. Rumor has it that Junko knows, though, and is out to get ‘em.”_

_But Bree of course knew exactly who he was talking about—Gigi was among the people who had access to the message boards, and posted on them regularly. Rather than hiding from Junko like most everyone else had chosen to do, Gigi had instead decided to publicize themselves, taunting Junko and causing trouble for her whenever possible._

_“Okay,” she said. “And what’s the occasion?”_

_“This is a rehab party,” Kevin said. What followed was clearly a prepared speech: “Kibougamine’s Cat guarantees that they can prove to any member of Super High School Level Despair that hope is superior. If you come to one of their parties, you will leave it without any interest in Junko’s army. You will be ready and proud to begin fighting on the right side of this war again. That’s the Cat’s promise.”_

_Bree vaguely recalled reading a post about this on the forums. She hadn’t really expected such an ambitious and gutsy project to take off, however. But if the two hundred-some people inside the building were any indication, this plan appeared to be going swimmingly. Bree couldn’t help but be inwardly impressed by Gigi and their efforts. Still, it begged the question: why hadn’t the person who invited her mentioned that Gigi was putting on this party?_

_“So, would you like to come in?” the bouncer added after a pause. “Everyone is welcome, despair or otherwise. We just ask that you be respectful and don’t start any trouble.”_

_“Yeah, I’d love to,” she said. “But, uh, first… would it be too much to ask to see the guest list?”_

_He hesitated for a moment, narrowing his eyes. “You lookin’ for someone?”_

_She nodded._

_He considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Well, alright, I guess. I suppose it can’t do much harm. You’ve gotta sign in, anyway.”_

_He passed her a clipboard with several papers on it, most of which were filled-up sheets listing the names of everyone who had come inside. The sheet had three columns listed “Name”, “Reason for coming”, and “How you heard about us”. Bree had to resist the urge to laugh at how benign and innocent it seemed._

_After entering her name, she carefully scanned the list of previous entries. Jack’s fake name wasn’t too far down the list, and she tried not to linger on it for too long. The first page yielded no other familiar results, and she felt her heart sink—but on the second page, about halfway down, she found what she was looking for. He hadn’t put his last name. All it said was, very simply, “Dexter.” He’d written it in small, narrow text, as though trying to make it disappear off the page. In the “Reason for coming” column, it said in the same narrow text, “despair/for a friend.”_

_Bree’s heart did flips in her chest. The sort of flips her flag would make during twirling practice; the particularly energetic kind that featured five or six rotations, so jubilant as to only be spurred into existence by a particularly impassioned song. But this joy was intermingled with an inkling of fear: Dexter had written down the word despair as part of his reason for coming. Of course this could just mean that he wanted to talk to some members of Junko’s army and further convince them to desert, but that didn’t seem like the sort of thing someone would write down on a sheet like this. No, it seemed more likely that Dexter_ himself _was infected with despair. And this idea scared Bree very badly._

_It was one that had crossed her mind before, of course. She had considered just about every possible reason for Dexter’s disappearance. He had been kidnapped or captured; he had gotten lost; he had been convinced to join Super High School Level Despair; he had been blackmailed into some horrible arms dealing gang that was trying to take over the feeble wartime economy; he had been infected by a violent case of lycanthropy and banished himself to a distant island where he could harm nothing but fish—the list got more melodramatic from there. Any outcome, positive or negative, had been one that Bree had considered before. So of course she had thought about the idea of him being infected by despair on many occasions prior._

_But… now, for the first time, she was being presented with concrete evidence that it might actually be true. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure about this meeting. What if Dexter hadn’t intended it as a joyful reunion? What if his intentions were far more sinister than that?_

_Then again, this party was being put on by Gigi—and its entire purpose was to try and cure members of Junko’s army of their despair. So maybe he had reformed. Maybe he was looking for some source of hope—and Bree felt that, at least when it came to Dexter, she was absolutely the person best equipped to provide that. So she had to keep going. Letting go of a long breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding, she handed the clipboard back to Kevin._

_“Thank you very much,” she said. “I’ll be going in now.”_

_“Alrighty. Have fun—and uh, good luck finding whoever you’re looking for.”_

_She grinned at him before walking past, holding her halberd loose and aloft at her side. She was almost immediately blindsided by the clashing mixture of multiple flashing lights in a dark room. An unknown techno song was playing; it thumped frenetically and almost threateningly in her ears. She hovered near the entrance for a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust._

_The crowd was very thick and populated almost entirely by people dancing. Closer to the fringes were individuals who were talking or having a drink—to her immediate right, along the wall, was a long wooden bar being run by a tall, gangly person in a Monomi mask. She watched them for a moment as they moved quickly from one end of the bar to the next, making and passing out drinks quicker than her eyes could follow. Her gaze drifted back to the crowd, half-expecting to see Jack at any moment. He wasn’t anywhere in her line of sight, though, so she figured as long as she was quick and careful she could avoid him. She didn’t have a problem with him or anything—she was simply too caught up in thoughts of Dexter to spare much worry for anyone else._

_After a moment of indecision, she began pushing her way further into the building, heading towards the other end. As Dexter was planning on meeting her here, she wasn’t expecting to find him in the thick of the crowd. He would likely be near the edges, in a corner or empty spot of the building._

_She got so caught up in finding a clean path through the crowd that she almost didn’t notice him at first. It didn’t help that he didn’t_ look _like himself, either. He was standing near the far end of the building, near a huge closed metal service door leading outside. At first her eyes scanned over him without a thought—he was just another pair of unfamiliar eyes in the midst of the flashing lights. But then she realized that the eyes_ were _familiar and all the blood immediately rushed to her head. She quickly scanned back over the crowd for him._

_Sure enough, there he was. Tall and bright-eyed and heavyset, with short brown hair and the thin line of a beard framing his face from chin to ears. He was wearing a black and red jacket with a flared collar that he had zipped up all the way, and under this was a pair of black dress pants. These were all pretty familiar things to Bree. What she noticed next was not._

_Strapped to his middle by a thick leather strap was an imposingly sized broadsword, its large and weighted handle visible over his shoulder. The entirety of the hilt appeared to be made of rubber, or at least encased in it, which struck her as rather odd. This weapon was not what_ really _caught her attention, however. What she noticed immediately—before she noticed his sparkling eyes, or the familiarity of his jacket, or the tired and hesitant smile that pulled at his lips, or even the massive sword—what she noticed before any of this was the myriad of scars on his face._

_They crisscrossed his cheeks, his jaw, all around his mouth, the spaces beneath his eyes—all of this was lashed with deep pink lacerations. Most of them looked old, but the occasional mark was an angry red color that told Bree it was a very recent addition. The last time she had seen his face, nearly a year and a half ago, it had been clean and unmarred. But now… her heart sunk. What had happened to him?_

_He started when their eyes met, a sort of jolt rippling through his frame. She slowed her pace, moving carefully towards him as she studied his appearance. Once she was close enough, he almost impulsively put his hand out, in a sort of excited gesture, and grabbed her arm. She was a little startled by his quickness, but didn’t pull away. Without a word he turned and pulled open the service door next to them, guiding her out of the party and once again into the cool night air._

_She let out a sigh once the door closed, senses returning to sharpness as the noise of the party was dulled. “H-Hi,” she said, a little inexplicably breathless._

_“Hi,” he said, voice low as though he were murmuring it. They stared at each other for a moment, the prickly tension of the unknown filling the space between them. Then he suddenly lunged forward and picked her up in a hug._

_“He-ey!” she half-yelped, half-laughed, an emotion not unlike relief flooding her entire system. He was hugging her so tightly that she couldn’t even hug him back. She didn’t know why he had those scars on his face, or the sword on his back, or why he’d written the word despair on the roster, but for a moment she allowed herself to forget about those things. For a moment Dexter was here again, with her, alive and well and here to pull her out of the indomitable darkness of her own mind. For a moment that was all that mattered._

_He put her down a minute later, and she was surprised to discover that his eyes were wet with tears that he’d only just managed to hold back. A smile had filled his face, accompanied by a breathless little laugh, but at the same time he kept putting his hand over his mouth and pulling his eyes up in a wince. All of the smiling, she realized, was hurting his scars._

_“I’m… really happy to see you,” he murmured once he got his breath back. He straightened up, seeming to have recovered as he got his grin under control._

_“I can see that!” she said, then caught herself. “I mean—me too. I thought you might have sent me that message on the boards but I didn’t—I mean I wasn’t sure—It had been so many months, I didn’t know what to think—”_

_She was interrupted by the sound of him fighting down another bought of laughter; a low snickering sound that rumbled in his chest like thunder. It seemed he could only restrain his joy of seeing her for so long. It stopped when he brought his hands to his mouth again, closing his eyes to disguise the pain._

_“I…” Her sentence ended before it could begin, smile slowly fading as she watched him. “What… What happened?”_

_He let out a low breath, lips parting only just enough to let the air escape. Indeed, she noticed that when he talked, he opened his mouth as little as he could, murmuring everything he said. “I got… captured,” he told her. “Junko—messed with my head. Forced me to become Super High School Level Despair.”_

_Bree shook her head faintly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. “But that’s not true. It can’t be. You’re right here, talking to me right now, and you’re not trying to kill me or make me fall into despair. So that can’t be true, right?”_

_“I wish it was that easy,” he muttered. “I resisted, but it’s not…” He shook his head. “She used a drug on me. Something experimental, that she made. I don’t understand how she did it. I can fight it, but I…” He reached up abruptly, covering his face with his hands, nails digging into his temples. Bree suddenly had a very clear and vicious image in her head of how he’d gotten all of his scars._

_After a moment he drew his hands away, drawing a long, bitter breath. “I can fight it, but it’s not easy,” he finished._

_She must have looked as dismayed as she felt, because his eyes went wide. “S-Sorry…”_

_“Why are you apologizing?” she snapped, then kicked at the side of the building out of rage. “This is Junko’s fault. She’s the bitch who did this to you. How in the hell did she capture you?”_

_“It’s… stupid.” He looked away briefly, shaking his head. “Short story is, I was an idiot. Now I’m an idiot who can’t control his own brain.” He paused, then grumbled, “Or his pancreas.”_

_“So—wait!” she said. “Did you find insulin? Are you okay?”_

_A smile pulled at one side of his lips, then immediately retreated. “It’s been five months. I’d be dead if I hadn’t. But yeah, I… Junko is—providing me with it.”_

_Bree stared at him._

_“It’s her way of keeping me down,” he said. “It’s like I can’t find any other place in the damn country with any insulin available. So I stay under her thumb—to survive.”_

_She shook her head, feeling dazed. “That’s… horrible.”_

_Dexter shrugged a little stiffly. “I’ve survived worse. But the… Because of the drug, my brain keeps telling me that I should—like it…_ Because _it’s horrible…” He trailed off, grimacing. “I don’t like thinking about it. But maybe all of this will be—worth it. I could help you guys. Be your man on the inside.”_

_“Is that why you got in contact with me?” she asked._

_“No, you idiot,” he said, fighting down a smile. “I wanted to see you.”_

_Now it was her turn to hug him._

_She pulled away at least a few minutes later. He leaned against the side of the building, sighing. “Pretty cool party Gigi put on. I was hoping it would be enough to—cure me. But like I said, this isn’t normal despair.”_

_“But why not?” Bree asked. “Why didn’t she just infect you the way she does everyone else?”_

_“Bree, we’re… not like everyone else,” he said. “Everyone in that message board. We’re different. We know about her, and we have each other. When we have our friends’ support, we’re strong enough to resist her normal tricks. And that makes her… mad. So she’s tried to work around it.”_

_“But didn’t succeed,” she reminded him._

_“On_ me, _” he said. “But on others…” He stopped himself, shaking his head._

_She frowned. “This message board, though—it sounds like you know why it exists.”_

_He kept shaking his head. “They know I’m resisting, so they won’t tell me everything. They know something about the board, but I don’t know how much.”_

_“They?” she said, swallowing._

_He raised his gaze over to hers, lips pressed tightly together. They stared at each other like this for a long moment that seemed to stretch across space like a rubber band, constricting her heart. Time, for a moment, meant nothing to her._

_But this moment, like all others before it and all others that would come after, was not to last forever. Bree heard the whisper of a slicing noise across the flowers behind Dexter, and in a moment she spun to face it. Standing several paces off from Dexter was Jack, a hunted look in his eyes, the blade of his guitar hovering above the ground. He froze when Bree turned to him, expression dark._

_Upon realizing what was going on, Dexter quickly spun around to face him as well. At this Jack straightened up, letting the guitar thump on the ground. He took a deep breath. “Bree… I need you to listen to me.”_

_“What?” she said, trying not to sound mad—or afraid. “What is it? What are you even doing here?”_

_“You can’t trust him, Bree,” he said, faintly shaking his head. “He’s become Super High School Level Despair. Whatever he’s said, he’s lying to you.”_

_Dexter glanced back at Bree. She would be the first to admit that he was certainly quieter and much less of a jokester than he’d been before, but the look he gave her just then was all she needed. She had seen it enough times before to know exactly what it meant. “No, Jack, you don’t understand,” she told him. “This isn’t like normal despair. Junko did something weird to his brain, and he’s fighting it.”_

_“He would_ say _that,” Jack said, gaze flicking back and forth._

_Bree was trying to think of what to say to him—to ask why he had come all the way from England for this, to tell him to back off, to try and explain the truth to him—but she was interrupted by the ear-ripping screech of tires as a low, slick silver car drove through the park boundaries and skidded to a stop only a few yards away from them. Tire marks were burned into the grass behind it, killing flowers in its wake. All three of them turned to face this new development._

_The driver’s door opened, and Momo stepped out, expression critical. Bree drew in a breath—several months ago, Jason had made a lengthy post on the boards about Momo’s sudden new “condition” as a member of Super High School Level Despair. Too caught up in the chaos of finally meeting Dexter, she had failed to make the connection between them before now._

_Momo stared at the group with something of a bored expression. But before they could say anything, Bree heard footsteps approaching from around the corner of the building. It was Kevin, looking pretty pissed off. “Hey man,” he said. “I get it if you want to make an entrance or whatever, but there aren’t many parks like this one left in the world! I’d appreciate it if you could move your ca—”_

_Before he could finish his thought, Momo had drawn a handgun and shot him in the forehead. He crumpled backwards, blood quickly pooling in the flowers. Screams echoed from the outside of the party, which rapidly spread to the interior. Disinterested, Momo turned their absent gaze back on the group. “I’ve gotta say, Dexter,” they said. “I’m a little disappointed. I was hoping you’d come up with a more creative way of fraternizing with the enemy.”_

_He didn’t respond. Bree glanced back at Momo, then over to Jack—it was clear by his expression that he hadn’t been expecting this development. He looked back to Bree, a flicker of fear crossing his eyes._

_“Oh, come on,” Momo groaned. “You’re not even going to_ try _to lie to me? You’re just gonna sit there and take it? I thought you were better than that, dude.”_

_Bree searched for her voice and was surprised when she found it. “Just let him go, okay? Junko’s drug or whatever didn’t work on him. He’s on our side, not yours.”_

_They huffed. “The drug didn’t work, huh? I disagree. It worked just fine—he’s just trying to resist it. He’s already lost; he’s just pretending he hasn’t. Like a patient on life support.”_

_“That’s a bit of a shit thing to say,” Jack muttered._

_“Is it?” they snapped at him with a sneer. “Think about it. Say Junko stopped giving Dexter his precious insulin. Within a few days, he’d drop straight into a coma. And sure, we could try to keep him alive—but without any more of that insulin, he’d be as good as dead. There would be no chance for recovery.” They rounded their gaze back on Bree. “That’s what I’m saying—the drug worked just fine. But he thinks that resisting it will be enough to save him. It isn’t. It’ll never be.”_

_Dexter had gone completely silent. Bree glanced his way to see him staring directly at Momo, expression blank and eyes dark. A nervous, unpleasant feeling of fear suddenly trickled through her system._

_Upon seeing Bree look his way, Momo did the same. “Still not saying anything, huh? Not gonna come up with a clever lie for me?” They grinned. “Well then, I guess I’ll have to come up with one for you. See—I know why you were here, Dexter. You weren’t going to help the enemy, no. Not at all. You were going to send them into despair, weren’t you?”_

_His gaze didn’t waver._

_“Yep. You were going to kill one of these assholes in order to send the other one into despair.”_

_Bree felt her heart sink._

_“Go ahead,” Momo said. “Do it. Kill one of them. I’ll watch.”_

_Dexter didn’t move a muscle. There was a long, horrible pause. “Ignoring orders from a superior?” They finally said. “You know that won’t end well.”_

_“Just shoot me,” he growled, surprising Bree. “Just kill me right now. I refuse to hurt either of them.”_

_Momo’s gaze fell. “Come on, Dexter, you know that won’t do. Either you pick one of them to kill—” they lifted up their shotgun. “—or I do.”_

_“Fuck this,” Jack snapped, reaching with unexpected chagrin for his guitar. Before Bree could yell at him to stop, a gunshot rung out through the air, and Jack buckled with a cry of pain. He fell backwards, staring at his leg with wide eyes. Momo had shot him in the ankle._

_They turned their gaze back to Dexter. “Go on. I’m not that patient, you know.”_

_What followed was the longest, most unbearable stretch of silence Bree had ever experienced in her life. She didn’t dare to take her eyes off of Dexter, watching him strain under the pressure of the decision he was forced to make. After what seemed like an eternity, his gaze slowly wandered over to Bree, pain in his eyes. There was an apology in his expression. He was begging her to forgive him for what he was about to do._

_What sort of response could Bree possibly have had to that? He was the person she trusted more than anyone else in the world. She nodded her head at him, expression solemn. Whatever he was about to do, she would live with it. There were far worse people in the world for her to put her faith in. There were far worse ways to die._

_Jack noticed this exchange and slowly stumbled to his feet, frame shaking as he tried to avoid putting weight on his injured leg. His gaze darted between Bree and Dexter, watching the former as she stared on with something like dismay and the latter as he seemed to compose himself, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. “H-Hang on,” he said to Dexter. “You’re gonna kill her, aren’t you? Don’t—Don’t—I just wanted to help.”_

_Before anyone could so much as take another breath, Dexter had reached up and unsheathed his broad sword, the massive serrated metal blade striking the grass at his feet as he brandished it. In the same instant, Bree just barely saw him press a button on the bottom of the hilt—and then the entire blade flickered with bright, electric blue sparks dancing along its surface. It crackled louder than anything she had ever heard, filling her ears with noise and her eyes with light and her nose with a burning smell. She had seen the standard Taser sword issued to many members of Super High School Level Despair, but this was different—this was blatant, mocking overkill, and she knew that Dexter had been given this weapon for that exact reason._

_She braced herself, fully expecting the crackling broadsword to strike forward and gut her. But instead, Dexter turned with frightening speed and, using the momentum gathered by the blade’s sheer size, brought it crashing down on Jack._

_It happened so fast that neither Bree nor Jack had time to scream. The sharpened blade cut him straight through the middle, cleaving him in half. Blood would have been everywhere if it weren’t for the fact that the electricity had burned his body dry as he was cut. The smell that filled the air made Bree dizzy and sick—like spoiled fruit and half-cooked meat left out in the sun. She made a noise she’d never made before. A choked, gargled sound of dismay._

_Both halves of Jack collapsed backwards in the grass. Dexter clicked the blade off, swung it once through the air, and then sheathed it with brutal finality. He was utterly expressionless. Momo had started laughing, the sound somehow managing to drown out the cacophony that was now beginning to rise from the ruined party inside._

_“That was pretty good,” they said when they’d gotten their breath back—but their smile quickly faded. “Now come on, get in the car.”_

_Dexter hesitated for a shadow of a second, gaze heading back to Bree. His hand twitched, half-making a motion towards her. He wanted to say goodbye. She stared at him, unable to decide if she was scared or sad or angry or anything else. There was no more time for any of it. He looked away from her, wincing, and then lowered his hand and walked to the car. He got in the passenger’s seat as Momo disappeared into the driver’s. There was a moment of silence. Then the car screeched to life and took off._

_Bree didn’t know what to do. She lay down in the flowers and began to cry._

_She did not see him again._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            I felt like gagging after watching it. I ran my hands across either side of my head, feeling ill as I struggled to put into words what I’d just seen. The figure turned to stare at me, silent in the aftermath of what she’d just had me watch. “That was…” I shook my head. “That was horrible.”

            She nodded.

            I shuddered. “I guess it kind of explains why Bree was able to act so relaxed about killing Jack. She must have remembered this stuff, and… anything would seem tame in comparison to that.”

            “Now you know what happened,” the figure said, then paused. “Do you want to know more?”

            I stared at her, wariness returning. “I guess.”

            “Then you’d better hurry,” she said. “Before Monobear finishes cleaning up.”

            The simulation winked back into total, suffocating darkness. Not expecting it this time, my heart jumped to my throat. For a moment I felt like I couldn’t breathe, eyes wide as they desperately struggled to see anything other than black. Then I could see the light of the doorway out of here, and ran for it as quickly as I could.

            Back out in the corridor, I gasped for air as I shut the door behind me. That simulation shit was probably something I would never get used to. Shaking myself with a grimace, I straightened up and tried to make sense of what the figure had just said. I better hurry before Monobear finishes cleaning up? She must be referring to the crime scene in the rec room. Would I see something incriminating if I spied on the mastermind? It seemed risky, but at this point I saw no reason why not.

            Pulling out my flashlight as I ran, I headed as quickly as I could past the empty corridor and towards the second wing. My footsteps seemed to strike the ground like gunshots, echoing in the empty darkness and putting me on edge. I slowed as I made my way into the wing, not wanting to alert it of my presence.

            I approached the door to the rec room as quietly as I could, carefully pulling it open. I was thankful for the silent hinges as I poked my head inside. Monobear was facing away from the door, seemingly looking down at something in its paws—or maybe just thinking. As I looked around, I was surprised to find that the Galaga machine which had been destroyed in Jack’s murder now looked as good as knew. The lights from all four machines illuminated the room in the same eerie colors as they always had. There was no body or blood or glass to be seen. It was like it had never happened.

            Sensing no immediate danger, I straightened up and walked in. “How did you fix the machine?”

            The creature actually _yelped_ as it spun around to face me. “H-Hey! What the fuck are you doing in here?”

            “I snuck out,” I told it flatly. “I thought you were supervising us, huh? So how come you didn’t see that?”

            “Eh…” It grimaced at me. “I’m not some sort of god, you know. I can’t be cleaning up messes _and_ watching you assholes at the same time.”

            “So you’ve got some weaknesses,” I said, not without a hint of pride.

            “Who cares!” the thing snapped. “Just get back to your damn cell.”

            I seriously considered just walking back—but something made me hesitate, watching the bear as it made to turn away from me. “What were you doing just now? Thinking or looking at something.”

            “You just answered your own question,” it grumbled, not turning around. “I was thinking or looking at something. Now go.”

            “Seriously,” I said. “You seem kinda… pissed. Like something went wrong.”

            At this it half-turned, gleaming red eye narrowed in my direction. “Yeah? And what if something did?”

            “Well, I’d want to know about it,” I said.

            “Hmm,” it grunted. I thought it wasn’t going to say anything more, but then to my surprise it rounded on me, grin more vehement than usual. “Okay, I’ll tell you. Bree’s gone missing.”

            “What?” I said, taken aback.

            “You heard me,” the bear said as it crossed its arms over its chest. “Bree made it out of the prison just fine. There were no problems at all. But the moment she got out of it, she disappeared. Like someone stole her from me.”

            “But…” I shook my head in confusion. “How is that possible? If she was out of the prison, then you should have had control over it. Right? How could someone just take her out of nowhere?”

            Its grin widened, laughing at me lowly. “I guess that’s the question of the hour, isn’t it? You guys are so eager to hate me, but what if the real enemy is the person who’s stolen Bree? I could be your friend for all you know. And now all of you are forfeit to the mercy of someone who could be nowhere near as kind as me.”

            I swallowed. “But—is she okay?”

            It shrugged. “Who knows? I guess the only way to find out would be to follow in her footsteps.”

            “Fuck off,” I snapped, then turned and sped out of the rec room, not wanting to let the mastermind get in another word.

            My head began aching as I made the walk back to my cell. The hooded figure hadn’t been lying—making the trip over there really had gotten me a lot of new information. But none of it sounded very good. I had no way of knowing if Bree was okay or not. What if this person had killed her? Or—could I even trust Monobear in the first place? What if its controller had been the one to kill her, and was now trying to push the blame on some nonexistent other person? My head spun at the implications.

            Hardly any of this was even making sense anymore. With every passing minute it felt like we were delving further and further into chaos. Tired and confused, I returned to my room in hopes of getting some sleep. But those hopes weren’t very high at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally have nothing to say here just SHIT
> 
> EDIT: Retconned Gigi's pronouns. It's only implied in canon, but Gigi's memories of transitioning were wiped by Junko, which is why they're referred to as "she" in Re:kindle. This update just missed the memo, I think.
> 
> BONUS KILLS  
> THIS UPDATE: 2  
> TOTAL: 4


	13. 3.1 "Feline Fire"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for round 3.

CHAPTER THREE: You Are Responsible For Your Own Death

(Ab)normal Days Part 1

            I woke up late.

            I hadn’t gotten the chance to sleep the night before, and prior to that had never slept very well in my cold and uncomfortable cell. So it came as no surprise that I ended up sleeping through the lights turning on and the third day starting. Still, it made me irritable and disoriented to wake up and discover that my room was already lit up. I quickly got to my feet and moved out into the empty corridor, looking around in annoyance.

            In search of the others, I stopped by the cafeteria. It was empty, but I took the opportunity to check the timer for a frame of reference: it read 93.45.21. I’d slept through about two hours of the third day. Annoyed with myself, I headed back out into the hall, trying to figure out where the others had gone.

            My wanderings led me down into the second wing. At the end of the long hallway, I saw Aaron leaning against the side of the archway that led towards the manhole to the surface. I was surprised to see light coming from the ceiling behind him—had the manhole been opened? Did that mean we were free? Confused and intrigued, I picked up my pace.

            “Hey,” he said as I approached. “You took a fuckin’ while getting over here. Did something happen?”

            “No,” I said flatly. “I just slept in. I didn’t get to sleep the night before, remember?”

            He gave me a little half shrug. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted to make sure nothing bad had happened. And, you know, good for you. At least one of us got some sleep.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “Long night?”

            “You could say that,” he muttered. “Couldn’t get much sleep after all of that shit with Bree. Which, by the way, I wanted to ask you about. It looked like you were talking to her before she left.”

            I glanced to the side. “Yeah, I was. I figured out she was the murderer ahead of time.”

            He looked mildly impressed. “Hey, good job. I don’t think anyone else managed that. What did she say?”

            I opened my mouth to answer him and then stopped, completely at a loss as to where to begin. With students already being dead, a weird person apparently visiting people, a mysterious figure showing me simulations, and the possibility of Bree having been kidnapped, it all seemed far too chaotic to even _try_ and explain. I rubbed at the back of my neck, making a face. “It all seems… really complicated to me. Bree tried to explain some stuff, but I’m not sure I got it. Everything sounded weird, I guess.”

            “Like what?” he asked, frowning.

            “Like…” I shook my head. “Just weird stuff she said about Jack, I guess. Like that she hadn’t actually murdered him. It, uh, didn’t really make much sense.”

            I could tell by his expression that he didn’t fully trust my answer, but to my relief he didn’t push the subject any further. Instead he sighed and cast his gaze backwards. “Well, anyway, you probably want to see the new area.”

            Something about his tone made me suspicious. “Yeah. Is there something I should know about?”

            His gaze wandered back to mine, expression hard to read. “You better go look.”

            I hesitated for a moment, shooting him a glare, but then walked past him to the ladder. I looked up to see that the manhole had in fact been removed, revealing what appeared to be bright sunlight on the surface. I shook my head, a little disoriented by this development. “What, we’re just allowed to go to the surface? Doesn’t that mean we could just leave?”

            Aaron had come up behind me to stand at the other side of the ladder. “Nope. The area’s fenced off, and any doors leading out of it are locked. But… Well, that’s not what’s surprising about it. I mean—haven’t you ever wondered where this prison is located?”

            “Of course,” I said.

            “You really should just look,” he muttered, and then began climbing up the ladder.

            Narrowing my eyes at his retreating form, I quickly followed.

            It wasn’t a long trip to the top. Once there, I pulled my arms up over the circular hole and braced them against the surface above me, pulling my torso up. I paused there, taking a look around. The manhole was set in the middle of a large circular dais. Around this was a long field of grass and trees that led to the foot of a tall, dark brown school building. My eyes wandered up it—and then froze at what I saw.

            Aaron was already on his feet, standing in front of me as I looked out. “See what I mean?”

            Emblazoned at the top of the building, in black and white, was the Hope’s Peak Academy logo. We were at one of the Academy’s campuses. But this wasn’t just any campus—I had only ever seen it in pictures before, but it was so familiar to me that I recognized it immediately. We were at the original Hope’s Peak campus in Japan.

            We were at Kibougamine.

            “What—but—” I looked up at Aaron in confusion. “But that means we’re in Japan. But why would there be a prison underneath Kibougamine? I’ve never heard of that before. What—this makes no sense!”

            He shrugged. “Hey, I’m just as clueless about it as you. But here we are.”

            I was quiet for a moment, looking around in consternation as Aaron took a few steps away. After a moment I pulled myself the rest of the way out of the manhole and got to my feet. “Well… shit. Has anyone figured anything out? What did Monobear say?”

            Aaron sighed. “Only as much as what you’d expect from the piece of shit. He mostly just started giggling all stupidly and told us that if we wanted answers we’d have to figure it out ourselves. Just the usual predictable jargon. And if you want to know what the others have found out, I’d ask them yourself.”

            “Good idea,” I said. “I think I’ll go do that, then.”

            “Yep,” he muttered.

            I turned away from him, raising my head to take a look around. It was a bright day out, the sky a light blue color that was free of clouds. No wind stirred the air. I was standing in the middle of a large, well-groomed park with paved roads leading in all four compass directions. In the near distance I could see gilded fencing surrounding the park, and gates at the end of each path. The manhole was set up on a clean stone dais in the center of the park, and from my current position looked like nothing more than a drainage grate. If I didn’t know any better, I would have no idea that a whole prison was underneath there.

            While I was looking around, Aaron had turned and walked off toward what appeared to be the east gate. I took a moment to check the others, and quickly discovered that they were all locked. All the fencing was even higher than the park’s trees, so there was no chance of climbing over. And we didn’t have any tools for digging under it. Seeing no plausible way forward, I turned back towards the east path and took it to the gate. Along the way I noted that I was heading in the direction of the iconic building itself, the logo looming high above me.

            The gate was already propped open, the sunlight casting the thin shadows of the metal over the ground. I looked around, finding myself in what appeared to be a paved and empty section of the school. Several yards almost directly in front of me was the tall and easily recognizable school building, logo gleaming in the sunlight. To my left was a large and ornate-looking building that stood out amongst the rest of the scenery. To my right were two smaller—but still considerably large—school buildings. Ash and Nikita were standing a few feet in front of me, in the midst of a discussion.

            “…Wasn’t expecting the floor to open up like that, more than anything else,” Ash was murmuring, expression thoughtful. “If I’m gonna be honest, I was way more shocked by that than I was by seeing you and Mads talk to Bree.”

            “That isn’t surprising,” Nikita said back, head lowered as she stared down at Ash. “Still, I thought it would be appropriate of me to explain myself. I would not want you to think ill of Madison.”

            “Or you,” they said with a small laugh. Nikita didn’t say anything, so after a moment they continued. “Anyway, yeah, I didn’t think you guys were doing anything wrong. I mean, to be honest, I’d sort of assumed that you’d figured out Bree was the culprit and were confronting her. So—how did that go? What did she say?”

            “Mmm…” She lowered her gaze further. “Many things, most of which would be difficult to explain. She was not, ah… sympathetic over Jack. It was somewhat upsetting.”

            I recalled the exchange she’d had with Bree last night, when Bree had said that she wanted the other students to hate her because it would make it “easier for them to understand.” I still didn’t quite get it myself, but Nikita seemed to have caught on to whatever it meant—and was even encouraging it.

            Ash frowned. “Jeez, you mean she was acting like she didn’t even care?”

            “For the most part, yes,” she said.

            They looked like they had something else to say—but then they glanced over and saw me. “Oh, hey Mads! Good to see you. I was beginning to get a little worried.”

            “Hey,” I said. “I’m fine, just really needed some sleep. You guys talking about Bree?”

            “Yep!” Ash said. “Nikita was worried that I might suspect you guys of working with her. But that never even crossed my mind, I promise.”

            “We did look kinda suspicious though,” I muttered, thinking back on it. “I was actually a little worried about that, but… eh, it’s whatever. I’m more worried about AJ.”

            “Why?” they asked.

            “AJ _was_ working with Bree,” Nikita said, frowning. “And it seems as though she had motives of her own, but Bree did not know them herself. We need to find her so we can discuss this.”

            “That’s… worrying,” they said, eyebrows knitting together. “Well… I think I saw her heading towards the big school building, so she might be there.”

            I offered them a small smile. “Thanks. But… do you think you could keep this quiet for now? I don’t want everyone jumping on AJ like they did with Zach.”

            “Well considering she was the one who started that whole thing, she sort of deserves it,” Ash muttered. “But yeah, I understand. I won’t say anything."

            “Awesome,” I said. “I’m gonna go check things out.”

            “May I accompany you?” Nikita asked, catching me off guard yet again.

            I shrugged. “Well, you normally do. And anyway, I bet you’ve already taken a look at this place, so I could use a guide. Let’s go.”

            We walked towards the big center building in silence, our feet clunking against the paved stone ground. The campus, at least from this perspective, appeared to be in almost immaculate condition. There wasn’t so much as a scratched stone visible. It made me wonder about this war that I kept seeing in those simulations—if there really _had_ been a war, then shouldn’t this place have been destroyed? Or at the very least in a hell of a bad state? Something about it didn’t add up.

            As we got closer, I looked up at the building, considering its warm brown stone. It appeared to be about seven or eight floors of varying height—the ground floor looked like it had a high ceiling, but the next six rows of windows were perfectly equal in length. The floor above these ones seemed to take up even more space than the ground level. Vague movement above the black and white logo emblazoned on its front told me that there was probably roof access.

            Satisfied with this visual investigation, I turned my attention to Nikita. “So you’ve already explored this area?”

            She nodded once. “We have been given access to four new buildings, this one included.”

            “Cool,” I said, holding open the wide double doors for her. As I’d suspected, the foyer of the first floor was wide and well-lit, with a high ceiling and clean tiled floors. “Did you go with someone?”

            “Yes,” she said. “I accompanied Ash.”

            “Good.”

            I fell silent, looking around. We appeared to be in a lobby of some sort—this was probably one of the main buildings at the school, and I imagined many conferences or meetings were held here. It was a room intended to serve as a staple of the school’s quality: clean, well-furnished, and intelligently designed. I was pleasantly surprised to see AJ sitting on one of the couches a few feet away from us, silently studying her lap. I headed over without another word.

            “Hey,” I said once I was close enough. She looked up, expression hard to read. “How are you doing?”

            “Fine,” she said, tone a little guarded. “Was there something you needed?”

            I raised my eyebrows. “A bit, yeah. We talked to Bree before she left. We wanted to ask you some questions.”

            Her gaze darted away. “Yeah, alright, it was a bit of a setup. That whole reaction I gave you guys when you ambushed me was a fake one.”

            “I figured as much,” I said. “But why? Why would you want to help her?”

            She paused a moment before responding. “I wanted to see what was going on with this murder shit. Wanted to make sure I understood why people were doing it. And I think I learned a little bit from Bree, so it’s okay now.”

            “Like what?” I asked.

            “Mostly that I’m not going to murder anyone because it’s stupid,” she grumbled. It looked like she wasn’t going to say anymore, but then she looked back to me again, shaking her head. “Man, I know I was being an idiot. Helping her like that. It’s just… this person came and talked to me yesterday, and told me I should kill someone. And obviously I wasn’t going to do it, but I… I just kept thinking about it. So I thought I should just… see what happens when someone else does it. That’s why I helped her. That’s all.”

            “Someone came and talked to you?” I said, stunned. “Was it the mastermind?”

            AJ shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. They were hiding… in that dark hall where the ladder is? I’d just come out of the pool. They got mad if I tried to get any closer, so I didn’t really get a chance to see their face.”

            I stared. “What were they like?”

            Her eyes narrowed. “It’s not easy to explain. They were sort of… hard to look at? Like it hurt my eyes, or something. I don’t know. They had a weird voice, too. It was pretty much impossible to place.”

            “And they requested that you kill someone,” Nikita murmured. “Did they specify?”

            “Yeah, but…” she shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not gonna kill anyone, so let’s just drop the whole subject, okay?”

           “We really need to figure out who this person is,” I muttered, frowning. “Bree told me that they talked to her, too.”

            “She didn’t tell me that,” AJ said, eyes wide—and then immediately narrowed again. “Huh. Well if you guys figure anything out, tell me, okay?”

            I nodded, surprised to find that I wasn’t anywhere near as annoyed with her as I’d been before. She genuinely seemed apologetic about it, and it was good to hear that she wasn’t planning any murders. Of course it was possible that she was lying—but for now I figured I’d give her the benefit of the doubt.

            Nikita and I took the elevator up. The six middle floors were all locked. According to Nikita, it seemed likely that classrooms of some sort were inside—but without access, we wouldn’t be able to confirm this. The highest floor was a meeting room, empty, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out across the whole of the campus. We found Kayla inside, inspecting the view.

            She turned to look at us as we entered, arms crossed behind her back. “Greetings, chums. Are you here to take a gander upon the campus as well?”

            “Not particularly,” I said, walking closer. “Nikita’s just showing me around, since I woke up late. Can you see the whole school from here?”

            “For the most part,” she said. “I was mostly up here to compare my map to the real thing and see if it matched up.”

            “Map?”

            In response she waved a small, laminated pamphlet in the air. “I got it downstairs. It seems the campus is divided into four sections—north, south, east, and west. From here and to there, you see, we are expected to do our best. Ahem. The park is in the middle, to separate all of this. We are in the east section, where many of the school’s facilities and primary classrooms are located.”

            “Cool,” I said, walking to the windows to get a look outside. I could easily see to the other end of the park from here, but not much of interest was visible. “Do you know if this building has roof access?” I asked.

            Kayla nodded. “Indeed it does. I tried to get a better view from up there, but it was about the same as this one. I decided to hang out in here because these huge-ass windows are fucking cool and deserve attention. Also, I do not like standing on the edge of tall roofs.”

            “Fair enough,” I said. “Do you think I could see that map?”

            “Sure,” she said, handing it to me. The entire pamphlet was of course in Japanese, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get an understanding of the map. I held it up to see that the whole of the campus was in a diamond shape, divided into quadrants in a rough x-pattern. We were in the east, and in the center was the manhole… and beneath all of this was an entire prison that had never before been mentioned by anyone in all of Kibougamine’s long history. It was as confusing as it was unsettling. I gave the map back to Kayla.

            “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

            “Mmhm.”

            Nikita and I headed back to the ground floor. I was eager to see the rest of this place, so I wasted no time heading over to the next building on my left. The dark red cross hooked over the roof revealed its purpose long before I could get close—it was an infirmary of some sort.

            When we entered the front room, I was surprised to find how open and welcoming the place looked. Most school infirmaries tended to be cramped and stuffy, but this one had a wide-open lobby that betrayed none of the usual sterility and unpleasantness of a nurse’s office. Further exploration revealed several different locked rooms, an office in the back, and an operating room with a myriad of different equipment and supplies in the light blue shelves that lined the counters.

            In the back office we found Caehl and Natasha. The latter was sitting on the large wooden desk, opening and closing drawers with an absent frown. I walked over. “Hey, what’s up?”

            Natasha raised her head, noted my presence, then lowered it again. “Hello, Mads. I was just thinking about this room. There are a few peculiarities about it.”

            “Like what?”

            In response, she pulled one of the drawers on the desk open. I looked inside to see nothing—just the smooth wooden bottom of the drawer. “Uh… okay?”

            She pulled open another one. Again, there was nothing inside. Then she got to her feet and picked up the stack of laminated folders sitting on the desk. As she thumbed through them, it quickly became apparent that there was nothing inside. “It’s odd,” she said. “We are at Kibougamine, the most prestigious and famous school in all the world. And there is nothing here. Absolutely nothing.”

            Nikita sighed lightly behind me, eyebrows furrowed. I looked back at Natasha. “Yeah, you’re right, it is pretty weird.” Thinking of the war that I kept seeing, I swallowed and added: “But I mean, who knows what’s been going on outside of this prison? Maybe something bad happened.”

            “Then why would the school be in such perfect condition?” she countered. “With the whole place set up as though it were the stage for a play? It makes no sense. There should be papers in these folders, or dirt on the ground, or something in the desks.”

            “Hey…” I glanced up to see Caehl looking at us from across the room, a frown plastered on her face. “Er… you guys do realize that the rest of the prison is just like this place, right?”

            “What do you mean?” I asked.

            She walked over. “In the cafeteria, the fridges don’t have plugs. Neither do the arcade machines. In fact there aren’t even any outlets anywhere.”

            I stared at her in amazement. “What, are you serious? Then what is all that shit running on?”

            “No idea,” she said with a shrug. “But I thought everyone knew about it. Natasha’s right—this place really _does_ act sort of like a stage set. Everything is just a prop.”

            “But it works the way it was intended to,” Natasha added. “Which is very much _un_ like a prop. It’s strange and disturbing.”

            “But that shouldn’t be possible, should it?” I asked.

            “Nope,” Caehl said, tone matter-of-a-fact.

            I frowned. “Weird. Thanks for telling me about this, guys.”

            “No problem,” Caehl said.

            On the way out, I poked my head into the operating room to see Laura pawing through the shelves in the corner. Recalling that these particular shelves _did_ have things in them, I walked over to see what she might have found. From over her shoulder I saw rows of things like syringes, scalpels, drill parts, and other pieces that might be necessary for a surgery.

            Laura glanced back at me as I approached, quiet for a moment. “Hi, Mads. Did you come here to take a look at this stuff, too?”

            “Um, sort of,” I said. “According to some of the others, a lot of the drawers and stuff in the other rooms don’t have anything in them. So I thought it was noteworthy that these shelves _did._ ”

            Laura seemed to consider it for a moment. “Well, yeah, there are supplies in here. But… it’s kind of weird. There isn’t any actual medication or drugs. Like… sure, there are syringes, but there’s nothing to actually put in them.”

            “Alright, yeah, that’s weird,” I said. “Do you have any idea why?”

            She shrugged. “No. There’s no clues or anything anywhere around here. I mean… where are all the people? This school is famous! Shouldn’t there be people here?”

            I sighed. “I’ve been thinking that too.” I glanced back to see Nikita looking away, her eyes narrowed as she absently studied the far side of the room. My gaze flicked back to Laura’s.

            “Well, we’ll figure it out at some point,” she said, sighing. “We have to.”

            “Yeah,” I said.

            The next stop was the other building to the left of the main one. It was built similarly, but of course lacked the cross on the roof. Letters engraved above the double doors revealed it to be the school’s Department of Fine Arts. I walked inside to find myself in yet another well-furnished and clean school building, classrooms full of supplies lining the halls. There was a second floor, the door to which was locked. And of course, save for us students, there was not a single living thing to be seen.

            I encountered Ari in one of the rooms, flicking through shelves as though in search of something. I walked over. “What are you looking for?”

            They looked up at me a little excitedly. “Oh, nothing in particular. I just think it’s great that we have access to this art building now! We can do, like, _drawing_ and shit. It’ll be a fun way to pass the time.”

            “Yeah, maybe,” I said. I wasn’t much of an artist myself, but their enthusiasm over it was commendable. “Have you made anything yet?”

            “Not yet,” they said. “I’ll have to get a group together. Doesn’t Ash draw?”

            “Yes,” Nikita spoke up before I could respond. “They have shown me some of their drawings, and I am of the opinion that they are quite skilled.”

            “Okay, cool,” Ari said. “I might go talk to them later. Thanks, guys!”

            “No problem,” I said, half-glancing at Nikita before walking off.

            On the way out, we ran into Isabelle just as she was coming inside. She looked over at us, running a hand over her bangs. “Hey guys. I was wondering when you were gonna show up, Mads. I hope nothing’s wrong?”

            “Nope,” I said. “I was just tired. How are you?”

            “Doin’ fine,” she muttered, seeming to glance past us and further into the room. “Have you two seen my sister around anywhere?”

            “She was upstairs in the main building, last time I saw her,” I said, frowning. “Why, is something wrong?”

            “Nah, not at all,” she said. “I just worry about her sometimes. If I let that kid go off on her own for too long, something terrible is basically guaranteed to happen. She’s like a walking chaos generator, or something.”

            “I think I can see why,” I said, grinning.

            She narrowed her eyes. “What, did she start something already?”

            My grin widened. “No. Just the way she acts, is all. I can imagine that you two have gotten into some trouble in the past.”

            “A bit,” Isabelle said lightly, expression somewhat conspiratorial. “Anyway, I’ll see you around.”

            “Yeah,” I said, watching her go.

            The last stop in this new area was the large, ornate circular building on the other side of the main one. As we got closer, I almost immediately recognized the building’s design for what it was: a theater. Curious to see how nice of a theater would be at a place like this, I ran up to the door—but it was locked.

            I glanced over at Nikita in confusion. She gestured towards the back of the theater. “The main building is still locked. We have been given access to most of the theater’s backstage locations, like the green room and prop room.”

            “I guess that’s pretty cool,” I said. “Any idea why we can’t get into the theater itself?”

            She shrugged lightly. “I am sure it is some part of Monobear’s design.”

            Still curious, I made my way around the back of the building. The theatre itself was circular in design, with a large, square-ish building emerging from the other side. There was a metal service door visible around the back of the structure—I pulled it open and walked inside, Nikita right behind me.

            I found myself in what was easily recognizable as the green room, evidenced by the myriad of couches to relax on and the large, black grand piano in the room’s corner. Aaron was sitting at the piano bench, absently jumping through a few chords; near the other end of the room I saw Jacob sitting on one of the couches, staring intently down at the pocketknife in his lap. On the left wall was a locked door that presumably led to the theater proper, and on the far wall was a door leading further into the backstage.

            Figuring that Aaron was preoccupied, I walked over to Jacob and sat down. “Hey man. How’s it goin’?”

            He looked up at me as I approached. “Hi! I’m doing pretty okay, I guess. I was just thinking about something is all.”

            “What is it?”

            He seemed to hesitate for a moment, eyebrows furrowing. “I’ve done a whole perimeter check of this whole area, and… Mads, the only thing keeping us in here is a fence.” He paused, glancing around nervously, and then leaned in and lowered his voice. “I think we might be able to break out of here.”

            “Yeah?” I said, studying him closely. “How?”

            “With my pocketknife,” he murmured. “I could easily cut a hole through the wires of the fence. The only problem is that we have to do it without Monobear noticing.”

            “Hmm,” I considered it for a few seconds, glancing to the side. “I’m not sure how we could distract the thing, but there’s gotta be a way. Are you… positive you want to do this, though? A jail break? If you get caught, you’ll probably be punished or something.”

            “I know,” he said, nodding a little bitterly. “But I’m willing to take that risk. If we don’t get out of here, we’re going to die.”

            I bobbed my head a few times, watching his dark and determined expression. My thoughts wandered back to last night. “Okay. One helpful thing I know is that while Monobear is around, the mastermind can’t watch the cameras. And while they’re watching the cameras, they can’t be Monobear. So if someone could distract the bear for a bit…”

            Jacob’s eyes widened. “Yeah, that could work! How are we going to set that up, though?”

            I shrugged. “No idea. I’ll look into it. Maybe talk to the others.”

            “Sounds perfect. Thanks, Mads.”

            Nikita had stood behind me, listening to all of this in silence. As I got up she gave me a wordless, sort of worried expression. Unsure of how to respond and eager to keep good on my word, I made my way over to Aaron. His hands had retreated from the piano keys and were drumming on one of its smooth black sides. He looked up as I approached. “Hey, wanna hear me play 47 songs in under six min—”

            “No,” I said flatly. “I’ve got something important to talk to you about.”

            His expression soured. “Wow, okay, Jesus. What do you want?”

            I leaned over the keys of the piano to get closer to him and muttered, “Jacob’s planning a jail break. He’s gonna cut the fence. We know he won’t get caught if the mastermind is running around as Monobear, because they can’t look at the cameras at the same time. But we need a reason to keep them as Monobear while Jacob does it.”

            “Huh,” he said, thoughtful. “Well I don’t know why you’re asking me. I really don’t know how I could help with this.”

            I shrugged. “I just figured I’d try to mention it to people, so everyone’s on the lookout.”

            “Fair enough,” he said. “Hey, have you found anything else out? I’d really appreciate any information anyone has.”

            I hesitated, wondering what to say. I knew a hell of a lot of things that no one else did, but telling them could lead to more problems than it would solve. But I’d already dodged Aaron’s questions once today—and he was a pretty nice guy. There was no reason for me to keep shit from him… but also no reason for me to go and spill my guts. After a moment of consideration, I settled on one detail that I could share. “I talked to AJ earlier, as well as Bree before she left, and apparently both of them were approached by a person who told them to kill someone. I think it was the mastermind.”

            Aaron narrowed his eyes, looking concerned. “Seriously? That’s not good. Does that mean AJ is gonna kill someone now?”

            Figuring I’d do her a solid and keep her name as clear as I could, I said, “No, of course not. She thinks it’s a stupid idea. She just wanted to tell me about this person that talked to her.”

            “Good,” he said, looking down in consideration. “Thanks for telling me. You sure you don’t want to hear that song I was talking abo—”

            “Nah,” I said, and quickly took off towards the next room before he could ask why not.

            Once through the door I found myself in a prop and costume room. There were clothes racks on either side of me covered in all sorts of countless different costumes. Labeled drawers on the far wall contained props. There was another door leading to the dressing rooms past this.

            Zach was thumbing through one of the costume racks as I walked in. He started in surprise when he saw me. “Oh! H-Hey, Mads. How are you?”

            “Okay,” I said, unable to stop myself from sounding guarded. “How’s the eye?”

            “Hurts,” he muttered dejectedly, then seemed to catch himself. “But, uh, I’m fine. What’s up with you?”

            I glanced behind me towards the green room, then walked over to him. Nikita followed. “I wanted to ask you about… you know, before Malcolm died. The night of his murder.”

            “Okay,” he said, watching me closely.

            “Did someone come and talk to you before you killed him?” I murmured.

            Zach looked taken aback. “I—no, no, that didn’t happen at all. What would give you that idea?”

             “Bree said it happened to her,” I said. “And so did AJ. So I thought… Huh. I dunno.”

            He hesitated for a moment, frowning and looking away from me. Then he said, “Well… I don’t know. Maybe it happened.”

            “What do you mean?” I said.

            “I… don’t actually remember anything from that night,” he mumbled. “I remember going to bed and then… next thing I know, I’m standing in front of Malcolm’s body. Honest. I’m not saying that as an excuse. I literally don’t remember what happened in that period of time.”

            I studied him closely, frowning. “That… doesn’t sound good.”

            “I know,” he said.

            “Well… we’ll figure it out,” I muttered. “Probably.”

            As I was saying this, the door opened and Aaron came in, looking around the room. I shot Zach a nervous glance, not wanting Aaron to overhear our conversation. We watched as he wandered over to the drawers were the props were and started looking through them absently. It didn’t seem as though he was here to eavesdrop, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

            Zach shook his head, clearly looking for a subject change. “Anyway… everything is just so odd. Especially about this new place. Have you noticed…? Um, this might sound weird.”

            “What is it?” I asked.

            “This school,” he said. “Kibougamine. It seems sort of… small, don’t you think? Like, way too simple to be as prestigious of a place as this. It feels wrong somehow.”

            “You know, I hadn’t thought of that,” I admitted. “But now that you mention it, you’re right. This place does seem sort of… dumbed down.”

            “Yeah.” He made a face. “Everything is just strange.”

            I nodded, glancing at Aaron again. “Right. Well, I’ll talk to you later.”

            Zach offered me a quick nod in the affirmative—but as I was walking away, Aaron had discovered a small fake golden goblet hidden in one of the prop drawers. He held it up and I heard him mutter to himself, “Ah yes, the chalice of the Lion’s Blaze…”

            Zach raised his head and murmured, also to himself, “I, too, have come to obtain the powers of the Lion’s Blaze.”

            I paused, turning around. There was a moment of silence as the two of them looked at each other. Then they both began laughing as loudly and maniacally as possible.

            “One of us,” Aaron said once they had finished, drawing his machete from his side and pointing it. “Is going to have to be slain! In a duel to pain’s bane!”

            Zach whipped out his umbrella from his side. “So we duel!”

            “Unsheathe sword!”

            They both repeated the pointless gesture.

            “I’ve long awaited to liquidate your life essence,” Zach announced.

            “I literally have dreams of killing you,” Aaron howled. “At least three times a week!”  

            Nikita was at my side, closer to the door. She leaned her head in and murmured near my ear, “What are they doing? Should we be concerned?”

            “No,” I said with a sigh. Despite myself, I had to stifle a laugh. “They’re just quoting a dumb Youtube video.”

            “Oh.” Nikita said. She seemed to consider this for a moment. “Why?”

            I glanced at her, then back to the two of them, quiet for a moment. “It’s fun, I guess,” I said. “And, well… we could use some fun around here, you know?”

            “I suppose so,” she responded, nodding a little thoughtfully.

            As the two of us left, it occurred to me that it was the first time I’d seen Zach smile since Malcolm had died.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, lot a shit going on this time. 
> 
> First up is that Chapter 3 title. I have a feeling that the source of this one will be harder to guess than previous entries.
> 
> Aaron and Zach were referencing [this video.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hv3aOjliuh8)
> 
> Aaron actually CAN play [47 songs in under six minutes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOlDewpCfZQ). I prefer his version to the original, though. 
> 
> Also, I've updated the first map and added new ones! My goal with this chapter was to preserve the "feeling" of the Kibougamine campus that we are so heavily inundated with during DR/Z. As such, I may now know the canon campus quite a bit better than most people. I think I captured it fairly accurately in the end. Anyway, the maps. 
> 
> [First wing](http://i.imgur.com/RzC95gM.png) : [Second wing](http://i.imgur.com/9KDVdls.png) : [Kibougamwing](http://i.imgur.com/LZCEP5M.png) (haha get it it's a pun I'm so funny oh my god)


	14. 3.2 "Someone Like You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Free time free time free time

(Ab)normal Days Part 2

            Without much else to do, I figured the best way to spend my time that day would be by spreading the word about Jacob’s escape plan. At the very least it would provide me with a good opportunity to get to know some of the others. I decided I’d choose Natasha as my first target, and after some searching, found her in the midst of a series of push-ups in the workout room.

             I didn’t say anything immediately, choosing to lurk near the doorway. She was counting under her breath as she completed each push-up, the numbers murmured too softly for me to identify them. She did several more before she noticed me, and then lifted her head, stretching her spine as she slowly rose to her feet.

            “Hello, Mads,” she said as she walked to the counter in the corner of the room and grabbed a towel, running it across her neck. “What are you doing here?”

            “I wanted to talk to you about something,” I said as I made my way towards her.

            She watched me very carefully, as though expecting me to kill her (and at this point I could hardly blame her for such a reaction). I put my hands up as I got closer, raising my eyebrows and gesturing that I was going to whisper something. Though she narrowed her eyes, she conceded, lowering her head towards mine.

            “Jacob is planning a jailbreak,” I murmured in her ear. “We’re trying to think of ways to distract Monobear so the mastermind won’t see him.”

            “Hmm,” she hummed, and then was quiet for a moment before pulling away. “Thank you for telling me this. I’ll see what I can do to help.”

            I sighed, relieved that I’d gotten that out of the way. “Thanks,” I said. “So uh… what are you doing here?”

            Natasha glanced towards the ground where she’d been doing push-ups only a moment ago, and then back towards me with a frown. “I was working out, of course.”

            “Well, yeah,” I muttered. “I guess what I really meant by that was why.”

            “Because I want to stay physically fit,” she said, tone once again suggesting that she thought this was obvious.

            I shrugged. “I mean—it’s just, we’re gonna die in a few days. So why bother?”

           She shook her head. “That’s a very defeatist attitude you’ve adopted. It is healthy and good of me to stay fit. Even if I am to die, I want people to see that I was a strong person in life.”

            “I guess so,” I said.

            “I owe it to my family, at least,” she added, looking away. “It is my responsibility to honor them with my strength. I was my parents’ only child, after all.”

            “Is that, um, customary, or something?”

            “Yes,” she said.

            “Oh.” I stared at her for a moment. “That’s pretty cool.”

            She dipped her head, as though acknowledging this as a compliment. “This is also why I stay studious and educated. Intelligence and strength are two of the most important qualities a person can have.”

            I wasn’t completely sure if I agreed with that, but she seemed pretty serious about it, so I didn’t see any reason to argue. “Well, I think you’ve got both of those things going for you,” I said.

            She smiled. “Thank you. I try my best. And thank you for the news you brought me.”

            “Of course,” I said, gaze flicking to the side. I wondered if the mastermind was listening to us. “I’ll talk to you later, Natasha.”

            “Okay.”

            As I left, I considered the things Natasha had told me. She had always seemed like a very smart and even powerful girl, but I hadn’t realized that she put those things on so high of a pedestal. It put many of her actions and general behavior in a new light. I felt like I knew more about her and her nature.

           I figured I’d tell AJ next. She’d been honest with me this morning, so I saw no reason to not return the favor. I found her sitting in the green room of the theater, sifting absently through a series of three notebooks in her lap. She looked up almost immediately as I entered, watching me head over to her, expression bright and focused.

            “Hey Mads,” she said. “What’s up?”

            “Wanted to talk to you about something,” I said, sitting down on the couch next to her. Dropping my voice to a murmur, I quickly relayed the details of Jacob’s escape plan.

            “Cool shit!” she said, then immediately lowered her voice. “Cool shit. I’ll tell you if I find or hear of anything useful.”

            “Thanks,” I said. I then glanced door-ward with half a mind to leave, but curiosity pulled me back as AJ returned her attention to her notebooks. “What are those?”

            “Oh, just my writing notebooks,” she said, then made a face. “Well, _mostly_ my writing notebooks. I also put drawings and map sketches in them. Stuff like that.”

            Recalling her title of Super High School Level Novelist, I said, “That’s pretty cool. Can I see?”

            “Sure,” she said. She picked up the first one from the pile, a simple black and white speckled composition book, and handed it to me. “That one’s a little fragile. I’ve had it for a long-ass time. I’ve written all over the stupid thing.”

            I could immediately see how worn it was—some pages were threatening to fall out. Not wanting to be the cause of its ultimate demise, I quickly handed it back to her. As I did so, she reached for the second. “This is my biggest notebook,” she said. It was a large red spiral notebook, with some surface damage like the first one, but nothing nearly as extreme. “I put a lot of maps and drawings in that one, since it has so much space.”

            Flicking through it revealed this to be true. I wasn’t given much time before she picked up the third one, however. “And this is the newest one,” she said. “It’s really a diary more than anything else, but you can look if you want to I guess.”

            She handed me a thick, magnet-bound notebook with the profile of a horned red dragon taking up the front cover. The creature had its mouth open and a look of pride in its eyes. “Wow, this is really nice,” I said. “Where did you get it from?”

            “My boyfriend gave it to me,” she said with a grin. “I’ve been… a little worried about him. But he’s probably fine, right?”

            “Uh—maybe,” I said. “I mean, yeah. He probably is. Um, why a dragon?”

            “Cause I fucking love dragons!” she announced. “I mean, this story I’m writing—the main one I’m writing—has this species of dragons with these special properties, right? So like, if they want to get wings or fins or anything like that, they have to complete these certain trials. Trials that are related to whichever one they pick, of course, so if they want wings they have to climb a mountain or if they want fins they have to swim to the bottom of an ocean or something like that. And this one dragon, Vivian…”

            AJ proceeded to go on a long explanation of a series of characters in her story, including descriptions of various romantic interests and subplots. I tried to keep up, but my attention kept drifting. After several minutes, she began to slow, looking at me sort of expectantly.

            “That’s really cool,” I told her. “I hope you have good luck with it.”

            “Thanks!” she said.

            Although the dragon stuff had been pretty interesting, I was eager to get back to my job, so I soon left. As I walked I considered all that I’d learned about AJ. She was a nice girl, if a bit misled at times, and certainly had a lot going for her. I couldn’t help but think about how she’d chosen to help a murderer. Had she recovered from that? It was hard to say. But at the very least she acted like it, and that was more than enough to pique my curiosity.

            Pretty soon it was lunch time—or at least as close to lunch time as we could estimate. I decided to sit by Caehl in the cafeteria, figuring that eating was a good of a time as any to tell her about the escape plan. We sat near the back, close to the timer, and I explained everything to her in quiet murmurs between bites of food. She seemed thankful that I’d chosen to tell her about it.

            Near the end of lunch, she turned to glance at me with something of a half-smile. “Hey, thanks for sitting with me today. You didn’t have to, you know. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of other people who you need to explain the plan to.”

           “Well, sure,” I said. “But I’m not just gonna explain shit and then ditch you. That would be a little rude. Plus, I’m eating. I want to relax, not run around talking to people.”

            “I guess so,” she said. “It’s just that there were a lot of people you could have sat next to. You didn’t need to pick me.”

            “I wanted to pick you,” I said, frowning at her.

            She looked away, actually and legitimately blushing a bit. “Well, that’s really nice of you.”

            I narrowed my eyes. “What, do you think I shouldn’t have bothered?”

            After a moment of hesitation, she offered me a stiff shrug. “I don’t know. It just… I guess I don’t view myself the way most other people do. A lot of people tell me I’m a really great person, but I guess I don’t always agree with them. I’m just… Caehl, you know? I’m not anything special.”

            “That’s bullshit,” I said.

            “No, it really isn’t,” she murmured. “There’s no point in trying to paint me as something I’m not. I’m not a person who’s special or confident, and there’s no point in trying to hide that. There’s also no point in broadcasting it though. So, uh, sorry for roping you into this conversation. I’ll stop it.”

            “Hey, no, I want to hear this,” I said, sitting down. “Why do you feel that way?”

            She paused for a moment, frowning at me, then conceded. “I can’t really say for sure. Maybe it was just the environment I grew up in. I was alone a lot when I was younger, so maybe I started worrying that I wasn’t all that great of a person because of it. I know it sounds pretty stupid, especially since I’m acting so self-aware about it, but that’s the way I grew up. So that had a pretty big influence on how I feel about myself now.”

            “That’s something we could fix, though,” I said, giving her as encouraging of a look as I could manage. “You know, getting you more comfortable with yourself or whatever.”

            To my surprise, she sighed and shook her head. “People can’t be changed easily. Trust me, I know _that_ one from experience. But honestly, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

            “What if I want to worry about you?” I countered.

            “Then you’re being a little silly!” she said. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude. It’s just… there are so many more important things than me that you could be putting your attention towards. Like the mysteries of this prison and stuff. I don’t need someone worrying about me all the time.”

            I frowned. “Okay, but… I still want to make this better.”

            “You can’t!” she said, sounding exasperated. Her expression lowered a little guiltily—then she got up and walked swiftly out of the cafeteria.

            I watched her go in silence, my frown deepening. With the way Caehl carried herself, she rarely struck me as a person with insecurities—instead, I had always related her more reserved nature to a sense of independence. It seemed now, however, that I had been dead wrong. I soon left the cafeteria, wondering if and when I would get a chance to talk to her about this again.

            The next person I chose to talk to was Ash. I found them outside in the park, sitting up in the bough of one of the trees and flicking absently through their ElectroID. They looked over to me as I approached the tree in question. “Hey Mads!” they said. “What are you doing over here?”

            I proceeded to relay the details of the escape plan to them as quietly as I could.

            “Oh, I know about that,” they murmured before jumping down from the tree to get closer. “Nikita told me earlier. Isn’t it great? I really hope we can make it work out.”

            “Oh,” I said, surprised. “Well, yeah, it is. You seem excited.”

            “Of course I am!” they said, straining to keep their voice low. “We might be able to get out of here. That would be the best news any of us have received since we got into this stupid prison.”

            “You’ve got a point,” I muttered.

            They sighed, looking back towards the tree they’d been in. “I tried climbing the fence earlier. I got pretty high, but there’s a whole line of barbed wire at the top. So I don’t think we’re gonna be able to get around that very easily.”

            “Wait, you climbed it?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Damn. That was ambitious.”

            “I wanted to see if there were any alternative methods,” they said with a little shrug. “Plus, I’m a good climber. I like climbing stuff. I also like theater. Like, a lot. Hey, what if I distracted Monobear? I can do some pretty convincing acting.”

            Impressed by their willingness to volunteer, I said, “Hey, maybe. I didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff.”

            They shrugged. “I guess I don’t talk about my talents as much as I could. I like hearing what other people are good at, and what they like to do. That’s fun to me. In my opinion, it seems like I’ll always have opportunities to talk about myself. But I won’t always have opportunities to hear about other people.”

            “That’s true enough,” I said, considering.

            “Sorry,” they said, looking away. “It must seem like I’m rambling a bit. But I seriously am really excited to get out of here. Or… at least to try, I guess. I know all of us are a lot stronger than we’ve been acting so far. It’s… scary and upsetting when one of us dies, but that doesn’t mean the whole group should crumple. We can overcome this if we try hard enough. I know we can.”

            I smiled at them. “I agree completely. Especially, I’ve gotta say, with someone like you on board. Right now you sound positive enough to make up for everyone else.”

            They laughed. “Well thanks, I guess! I just want to do whatever I can to help. And if being positive is the thing I need to do, then I’ll be sure to keep it up.”

            “Good,” I said. I hadn’t realized how much I’d relaxed since this conversation had started, and couldn’t help but think that it had something to do with Ash’s influence. “Well, I’ve gotta go tell the others,” I told them. “I’ll see you around.”

            “Okay,” they said before turning back towards the tree.

            As I walked back, I considered everything I knew about Ash so far. They were a friendly and helpful individual with a kind disposition. Although I had seen them get a little upset in the past, they seemed to be perfectly capable of entering the reverse end of the emotional spectrum, exuding positivity and energy wherever they went. I considered the escape plan, and how hopeful they were about it. Suddenly, I really wanted it to work too.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            I spent the rest of the day spreading the word of the escape plan to the other students. Nothing too eventful happened, but everyone at least seemed interested and eager to help. I was going to go to bed early, excited to actually get some solid sleep in, but then it occurred to me exactly how long it had been since the last time I’d gotten a shower. I really did want to sleep, but putting this off any longer was probably a bad idea. Resigned, I grabbed my flashlight and headed for the bathrooms.

            The lights had gone off some time ago, around the 83rd hour on the timer. I had some reservations about going out for a shower this late at night, but I didn’t want to put it off any longer. I’d been in that gross cell for way too long and was beginning to feel pretty nasty because of it. I was taking a shower now, and that was the end of the story.

            Still, the darkness of the halls was deterring. Steeling myself, I clicked on my flashlight, illuminating the corridors in dark blue. With this to guide me, I made my way down the corridor where the cells were and into the hall. My footsteps echoed dully in the empty space. Abruptly remembering Jack’s death, I spun around to see if anyone was following me—but the flashlight exposed naught but cold stone.

            Grimacing at my own nervousness, I proceeded with more determination to the bathrooms. In the far hallway I paused, wondering which one I actually wanted to go to. I wasn’t feeling any particular sway towards either gender at the moment, and took a minute to chew on the decision. I eventually decided to head into the female bathrooms.

            The echo of my footsteps increased dramatically in this confined space. I put my flashlight on the edge of the counter, propping it upwards so it would illuminate most of the area. The counter was on the left wall of the bathroom, and extended across half of it—on the right wall was a row of four simple bathroom stalls. And on the final wall, the one furthest from the door, were three shower stalls. Each one had a small changing room with a lockable stall door that was separated from the shower itself by a curtain. I chose the middle one, carefully locking it and then getting undressed.

            It wasn’t long before I was in the shower itself. It had one of those shitty circular handles that you had to press down on and turn it just perfectly to get the water flowing, and in the dim and distant light from my flashlight it took me a minute to get things situated. The good news was that there was already shit like soap and towels here, so I didn’t need to worry about that.

            I took my time with it, reveling in the warmth of the water. It had been a damn long time since I’d last gotten to take a shower, and I planned on enjoying it. I had no reason not to, considering all the shit that had happened in the past three days.

            My mind soon wandered to even less pleasant topics. Were more students going to die? Would these students also be proclaimed to be “already dead” by their killers? Would I see more of those simulations? Would I ever figure out who the hell the mastermind was, or why they were doing this? There were plenty more things to worry about than that, but I didn’t have the mental capacity to list them all just then. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the side of the shower, letting out a terse sigh. What I wanted more than anything else was for this to be over.

            I heard the door to the bathroom open.

            For a moment I didn’t think much of it, but then I remembered what time it was and cracked an eye open to see if anything had changed. To my surprise, nothing had. It seemed as though this person had entered the bathroom with their flashlight turned off, which struck me as odd. Maybe they had seen the light coming from mine? But how could they have seen that from out in the corridor?

            I shook my head, telling myself not to worry about it. This was probably just a person who liked when it was dark, or something. They were just here to go to the bathroom and then go back to bed. I mean, the little bathrooms in our cells were easily the worst thing in existence, so I didn’t blame them for making the walk over here. I was being needlessly suspicious and should try to relax.

            But then several seconds passed in total silence. The only thing that could be heard was the drum of the shower against the floor beneath my feet, a rain-like sound that filled the air and echoed in the stony walls of the bathroom. No stall doors opened. No footsteps could be heard. This person was standing near the doorway, completely still and silent.

            “Hello?” I called out, confused.

            At this, the person started to walk forward. Their footsteps seemed to thrum almost in rhythm with the beat of water against the bottom of the shower. Suddenly, the blue glow of my flashlight warped, jumping from the ceiling and down the wall to the floor. This person had picked up my flashlight.

            “Hey, that’s mine,” I said, surprised to hear a hint of nervousness in my voice. “I’ve got it there to keep the room lit. Could you put it back?”

            There was a moment of silence. Then I heard the flashlight hit the counter with a _thunk_ as the light returned to its normal position. “Thanks,” I said after a moment.

            “Where is she?” the person responded suddenly, their tone querulous and almost even harmless.

            I was quiet for half a second. “Sorry, what?”

            “Where is she?” they repeated, sounding a little darker now. “I’m asking you where she is.” The voice was completely impossible to place. It seemed to skip on certain syllables, and growl on others, almost as though it were distorted in some way. The pitch was too middle-ground to betray any gender.

            “Who?” I asked.

            They didn’t immediately respond, as though thinking. I heard them take a few steps closer. “The one who will only talk to you.”

            My curiosity was getting the better of me. I turned away from the stream of water to face the shower curtain—a pale, pinkish gray plastic thing. In front of it was the little changing stall where all my stuff was, and in front of this was the stall door leading to the rest of the bathroom. All that was separating me from this person was a curtain and a flimsy metal door. If I peered through the curtain, I might be able to get a look at them through the slats of the door.

            “She only talks to me?” I repeated, inching closer to the curtain. “Do you mean Nikita?”

            “No,” they said, sounding annoyed. They began to pace in front of my stall door, as though thinking. “I can’t… remember everything. _Fuck_. She’s… the one who’s not supposed to be here.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Exactly what I said,” they snarled. “Aren’t you listening?”

            “It’s not ringing any bells,” I said, carefully grabbing one side of the curtain. It would be hard to move it without making noise. “Who are you, exactly?”

            “None of your business,” the voice snapped back. They stopped pacing in front of the stall door, as though trying to glare at me. This was the perfect time—if I moved quick enough, I could probably get a look at them.

            I pulled the curtain back as gently as I could, but the metal rungs scraped against the curtain rod and produced an audible creaking noise. Immediately the person let out something between a hiss and a growl and I heard them take another step forward, right up to the edge of the stall door.

Before I could figure out what they were going to do, the horrific sound of shredding metal filled the air as they ripped my stall door free from its hinges and flung it against the barrier of the shower. The entire shower rattled under the force of the impact—the curtain flung backwards towards me as the door hit it; vertically at first, but then gravity made it collapse to the side after impact, blocking my exit. I staggered backwards to the far wall of the shower, suddenly terrified.

            “Don’t look at me,” they snarled, heaving a few breaths from the exertion.

            Not daring to come any closer, I tried to assess what little I could from the corner of the shower. The ripped-off door was lying at an angle in front of the shower curtain, blocking most of my view of the outside. Through a little shred of curtain, however, I could see this _creature’s_ silhouette standing in front of the stall, their visage warped and indistinct through the haze of water and plastic. I stared at them with wide eyes, my breath coming out in hard little gasps.

            The thing shook their head, turning away. “You need to figure out who she is if you want to live. It’s the only way for someone like you.”

            Then they turned and left the bathroom without another word.

            I collapsed to the floor of the shower, overwhelmed with fear. I had seen plenty of scary shit since this mutual killing had begun, but this was the first time I’d been properly terrified. Whoever or whatever that was, they could have killed me. A few inches off of their aim with that door, and I would most likely be dead. Feeling acutely and uncomfortably aware of how exposed I was, I hastily turned off the shower and navigated my way over the broken door to dry myself off.

            As I was getting dressed, it occurred to me that the person—or creature, or demon, or beast, or whatever the fuck—that I’d just encountered was probably the same person who had approached AJ and Bree and told them to kill people. But they hadn’t told me to kill anyone: instead, they wanted to know about some girl. What was that supposed to mean? My heart pounded, adrenaline still flowing strong through my veins.

            I returned to the bathroom proper, snatching my flashlight off of the counter. Suddenly the shadows in the room seemed longer and more threatening than they had before. Unable to shake a growing sense of paranoia, I fled as quickly as I could without breaking into a full-on run.

            My cell may be gross and cold and boring, but in that moment it seemed like the safest place in the world. I was happy to return, and double-checked my door to ensure that it was locked. Then I curled up in bed and tried as hard as I could to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            Somehow, miraculously, I managed to fall asleep. I woke up before the lights could turn on, however, started awake by the sound of metal getting ripped apart in my dreams. I lay there with my eyes open for a long moment, studying the pitch black. Despite all my silent will and determination, I couldn’t get back to sleep again.

            Accepting defeat, I got up out of bed and retrieved my flashlight, casting it around the confined space. It was quiet, of course, since my door was closed. The timer on the little LED clock next to my bed displayed 72.16.22. Mere minutes until the start of the fourth day.

            Figuring there was no point in going back to sleep if I’d just have to get up again in 15 minutes, I stood and headed for the door. I could get a head start on breakfast, or maybe do some early-morning snooping.

            On my way to the cafeteria, I stopped—it had occurred to me that I hadn’t seen a sunrise (or even had the option of seeing a sunrise) in over a month. But it was possible that I could do it now. Maybe the sun coming up coincided with the start of each day on the timer? Even if it didn’t, going up there to check would be a good way to get a frame of reference.

            It was a short walk to the ladder. I made my way up to the surface, clicking my flashlight off near the top when I saw dusky, milky-black light coming from the sky above. I was just a few minutes away from the sunrise. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to be enjoying any sunrises today. When I got to the surface, my heart sunk.

            All of the other students were crowded in a circle around a space a few feet in front of the main school building. I couldn’t see what was going on very well from the center of the park, so I quickly pulled myself out of the manhole and ran across the grass to where they were. Kayla, near the back of the group, saw me approaching and looked up, her arms crossed over her shoulders as though holding herself.

            “Mads,” she said curtly. “Did you sleep through the announcement?”

            “What announcement?” I asked, but then immediately thought of the answer—a body announcement.

            Kayla nodded towards the group of students. They had formed a wide, circular ring around the space where a body was clearly visible on the ground. Blood had pooled all around them, extending in every direction in a wide, uneven circle. I stepped closer and was dismayed to see that it was Natasha, lying limply on her side with her head lolling backwards over her extended arm, two deep knife gashes gouged into her exposed neck.

            “Fuck,” I hissed under my breath. If I hadn’t been awake before, I sure as hell was now.

            “Oh, good, you’re here,” a voice murmured behind me. I turned to see Nikita standing there, studying me more closely than her usual. “I was beginning to worry that you had gone missing with the others.”

            “The others?” I asked. “Students are missing?”

            She nodded. “AJ, Zachary, Ari, and Isabelle have not shown up for the body announcement. No one knows what has happened to them.”

            “I’m very concerned for my nii-san,” Kayla added from behind her, eyes narrowed in a sort of challenging way.

            “Okay,” I said slowly. “Well, does anyone have any idea where they might ha—”

            My sentence was cut short by a sudden scream from the other end of the east campus. Everyone immediately shot to full attention, raising their heads in the direction of the sound. Several people immediately began to take off. Ash, Kayla, and Jacob lingered around Natasha’s body, perhaps with the intention of guarding it—or maybe just out of fear of whatever had caused the scream.

             I glanced at Nikita, who was waiting to see what I would do, and then turned and darted after the others. The scream had come from the side of the infirmary furthest from the gate to the park. The tall stone walls of the buildings loomed above us, casting long shadows in the faint morning light. I struggled to pick up details.

            We slowed upon approaching the infirmary’s far wall. As we got closer, I could hear a horribly loud gagging sound coming from the shadows around the base of the wall, as though someone were choking on something. I picked up my pace, worried and uncertain—as I entered the shadows, my eyes quickly adjusted, and I saw the source of the scream.

            Ari was slumped against the back wall of the infirmary, a large knife lodged in the front of their neck and sticking out of the back. Blood ran from them in long, thick streams that trickled down their collarbone to the wall and down to the ground, rapidly pooling around their person. They looked up at me with a dazed, panicked expression, and tried to gag something out. But their throat was destroyed—they could not utter a word.

            Laura gasped from behind me and ran forward. I thought she might try to help Ari, but she skittered a stop a few inches in front of me, her hands out as though reaching for something that wasn’t there. Her expression was one of despair.

            “C-Can you—?” I started.

            “No,” she said. “I need to apply pressure, but the knife is in the way. And if I take the knife out…” She began rapidly shaking her head. “It wouldn’t matter. The wound goes through her entire neck. There’s nothing I can do.”

            I looked back at Ari. They looked back at me with wide, empty eyes. I had no way of knowing if they’d even heard what Laura had said. With each heavy, loud breath they took, the blood pouring from their neck increased in volume. They stared at me, as though pleading me to stay with them.

            I did. But as they grew quieter and quieter, my heart began to ache and I was forced to turn away. A few seconds later, the choking noises stopped. Monobear’s voice boomed dimly in my ears as the body announcement rang out.

            “What—” Caehl began, and then immediately cut herself off with a startled scream.

            She was looking across the street towards the back of the infirmary. I followed her gaze, startled, but nothing was there. “What is it?” I asked her.

            “I saw…” she looked at me with wide eyes. “There was a wolf.”

            “It wasn’t a wolf,” Aaron snapped, not taking his eyes off of the same location. “It was someone in costume. Something from the prop room, I think.”

            “They were wearing a wolf costume?” Laura asked.

            “Strange,” Nikita murmured.

            “It looked like a real wolf,” Caehl said.

            I took a step forward, looking at the corner of the infirmary as though the shape would appear again—but nothing was there. I let out a long breath, eyes flicking back towards Ari’s body. Several hundred yards away, Natasha lay dead in the street.

            “Serial killer,” Aaron muttered beside me.

            “Yeah,” I said, voice hoarse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to pull a fast one and jump straight to the murders this time around. Chapter 3 is going to be long enough as it is, so this is one way in which I'm cutting corners. 
> 
> So--chapter title! You Are Responsible For Your Own Death. Dexter correctly identified this one as the title of episode 24 of the anime Pani Poni Dash!. A very good and not-too well-known anime that I highly recommend. It's one of those rare cases where the dub is just as good as the sub. Arguably better. 
> 
> I chose it for this chapter's title because... well, death is pretty much the reigning theme of Chapter 3, even moreso than it is normally. There's also a lot of emphasis on people's actions and the consequences of their actions--thus, they are all responsible for what happens to them and their peers. They are responsible for their own deaths. This one will become more readily apparent as Chapter 3 progresses. 
> 
> Oh, and don't worry, there'll still be an alternate ending. I'm just putting it after the murders this time around.


	15. CJ Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even bothering to disguise this one ahead of time. You all already know what it is.

(Ab)normal Days Part 3

            _Her mind cycles through it all again. The school. The rigorous day and night cycles. The arcade machine that was magically fixed overnight. The appliances that don’t have plugs. The strange and unnatural rules for escape. The simulations. The mysterious girl who’s running them. The creature that keeps talking to the students. The wolf who had lodged a knife in a throat, its teeth too dull to act as their own weapons. The blood. The blood. The blood everywhere, everywhere, all over her and them and it and him and everything; soaking into the floor, past the floor, into things they cannot see, creeping downstairs, drenching their only hope of escape in a sea of despair—_

            Calise shot up in bed, hair askew around her face. For a single dazed moment, she couldn’t figure out where she was. Fearing that she would be late for school, she launched out of bed, tripped over the bathrobe on the slick wooden floor, and fell flat on her face. It was only after she sat up, groaning, that she remembered she didn’t have school—she was too old for that now.

            She didn’t have college, either. She’d passed that milestone last year. She was taking some time off before she entered the workforce. Some time to relax in her apartment and prepare for the future and not worry about responsibilities. She also couldn’t find anyone to hire her, but… well, that was just because she hadn’t tried hard enough yet, right? She just needed to try harder.

            She carefully got to her feet, sighing. “Trying harder” became a lot more difficult when she factored in all the weird dreams she was having. She’d had these dreams since high school, of course, but since then they’d grown to be much more violent and troubling. They weren’t about the same characters anymore. Well, they were, but not in the same _way._ This story was different from the one her mind had catered to her during high school. This story was scarier.

            A little unsteady on her bare feet, she made her way slowly into the kitchen. Her apartment was seven stories up and overlooked much of the New York skyline. Bright silver buildings for miles. Hugging the sides of her balcony was a series of flowerboxes to add some color to the scenery. Yellow, red, orange, purple… just like the flashlights in the dream. She shook her head, turning her attention to the kitchen.

            It wasn’t easy to shake the thoughts, however. As she pulled the bread out of the pantry and began to select some slices from the package, she considered what she should do. If these dreams kept up their current rate of intensity, it could be liable to drive her crazy. She wanted to work and be successful, not hide in her apartment afraid of shadows.

            Of course she could always talk to someone.

            It would help, especially, if that person had experienced the same dreams as her.

            Calise hadn’t talked to Buck in many years now. What had once been a flagrant high school crush had burned out into nothing but a distant friendship. Sometimes he’d make a funny post on Facebook, and she would like it. But they didn’t talk or exchange stories of their lives. Not anymore, at least. And it had been even longer than that since they’d last discussed the weird dreams that the two of them had shared.

            Still… they had once been great friends, right? What harm was there in contacting him? As she put the bread into the toaster with one hand, she absently pulled out her phone with the other.

            Yep, his number was still in her contacts. She hesitated for a moment, studying the patches of dust in the early morning sunlight. Then she leaned against the side of the counter and dialed the number.

            It rang four times before he picked up. “Hello?”

            “Hi, Buck?” she said. His voice was familiar in a distant sort of way. “It’s Calise.”

            There was a pause. “Oh. Hey. Hey, it’s been a while.”

            “Yeah!” she said. She laughed lightly, in hopes of calming him down. “I’ve been busy. How are you?”

            “Fine,” he said. She couldn’t hear anything on the other end. Was he in his house? Where did he live now? Was he married? “Did you need something?” he asked.

            Maybe he was busy. Her heart thudded and she told herself she should hurry this along, for his sake. “Um… yes! I wanted to ask you about something sort of… odd. Something we used to talk about a lot.”

            “Uh. Okay?”

            She took a deep breath and said, “Those dreams that we both used to have. About our high school class at a campsite. Do you remember?”

            “Yeah, of course,” he said. “People would die every night. Weird shit like that. What about it?”

            “I…” she hesitated, swallowing. “Um… do you still have them?”

            The line was quiet for a moment. “No,” he said. “Of course not. All that stuff stopped a long time ago. In fact… it was a couple months after I met you. Those dreams have been old news for a long time.”

            “Well, I’m still having them,” she admitted. “And I was—I was just calling you to see if… I don’t know. If you had any advice about that, or anything.”

            “You’re still having them?” he echoed. “About the same stuff?”

            “No,” she said. “It’s a different class now. And they’re in a… prison? Or maybe a school. I’m not really sure. But people still die every night, a-a-and the story still gets mixed up like it did before… but they’re… scarier now. Scarier things are happening.”

            Buck was quiet for another long moment. When he spoke again, his tone had changed. “Calise, are you sure you’re… you know, okay?”

            “Yes!” she nearly yelped. “Of course I am.”

            “Okay, well…” She heard him sigh. “Those dreams, you know… who really knows for sure if we were sharing dreams or anything? Maybe they were just really similar. They certainly weren’t anything special, right? It was just this thing that happened. It’s over now. Maybe you should try to… you know, move on.”

            Her eyes slowly widened as he spoke. “What—you think this is because I still have a crush on you?”

            “I-I don’t know,” he said quickly. “That’s none of my business. I just think you should move on, is all.”

            Color rushed to her face. “You think I’m making it up.”

            “I… I’m not…” For a moment, he didn’t say anything. “I need to go, Calise. You have a good day, okay?” And then the line went dead.

            Calise put her phone down on the counter, lowering her head in silence. She could feel despair filling her limbs, making her heart ache and her cheeks burn. Why didn’t he trust her anymore? They used to be so close—the closest friends she knew. But now they were as good as strangers; he’d turned back into the person that she was afraid to run into outside of the school building with a piece of toast in her mouth. And of course—she was an adult now. There was no space in her life for strange dreams, right? Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it never had. Maybe he was right and she just needed to let go.

            She jumped when the toaster went off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Calise ending had always been the least ridiculous out of all of them, so I decided to make its sequel more sad than humorous. 
> 
> We'll be back to the story proper soon enough.


	16. 3.3 "Canine Combustion"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like how this one turned out.

Investigation

            As we stood there in a dark and numb silence, the sun suddenly eclipsed the edge of the campus and the area was filled with light. The fourth day had begun. I swallowed, heart pounding as I studied the scene in the rising light. Not only were two more students dead, but we were running out of time. Everything felt wrong.

            We only had to stand there for a few more seconds before Monobear showed up, studying us with its bright and gleaming red eye. It had its paws folded behind its back and a smug grin on its face. I turned to look at it with a dark glare, wishing it would just go away. “Two bodies this time!” it said brightly. “You guys are gonna have to work hard if you want to get any answers. I’m gonna give you some more time than usual, but it’s still gonna be hard. I won’t keep you.”

            “Hang on,” Aaron snapped. “You’re seriously telling us that one person killed both of them? But why?”

            “I’m not _telling_ you anything,” it snarled back. “It’s up to you guys to figure it out. Don’t ask me any questions!”

            The thing took off before any of us could try to get any more out of it. I sighed, looking back towards Ari. They were utterly limp, and clearly dead even without the massive ring of blood surrounding them or the knife in their neck. Looking at all the blood, I couldn’t help but grimace. It was going to make this case a messy one.

            “We should set up guards,” Laura murmured, surprising me.

            “Why?” Caehl asked.

            “Look at all the blood,” she said. “People are going to leave… tracks when they go to inspect the body. Someone needs to be here to monitor who comes and goes so nothing weird shows up.”

            “That’s a good idea,” Aaron said. “We’ll need more than one person. Just in case one of them is the culprit.”

            Caehl shrugged. “I’ll do it.”

            “Me too,” Laura said.

            “Good idea,” I told them. “I’ll go talk to the others and get them to pick guards.”

            I headed over quickly, not wanting to lose time. Natasha was lying on the ground where I’d last seen her, crumpled in the middle of another pool of blood. Ash, Kayla, and Jacob were lurking nearby, exchanging short quips as they occasionally glanced back towards the corpse. I picked up my pace as I approached.

            “Hey,” I said. “Ari is…”

            “Monobear told us,” Kayla muttered, putting a hand up. “The three of us were just trying to determine what we should do.”

            “Well, the others are setting up two guards around Ari’s body,” I said. “So we can watch for anything weird. Could two of you do that for Natasha as well?”

            They looked at one another. “I can,” Ash said, shrugging.

            “I’d prefer not to,” Kayla said. “I want to go looking for Isabelle. I’m getting…” she paused for a moment, as though trying to pick the right word, and then surprisingly settled on “…concerned.”

            I glanced at Jacob. “I can’t do it,” he quickly protested. “I want to…” He hesitated, looking at all of us, then motioned for us to lean into something of a huddle. “I want to try the escape plan,” he murmured. “I know now seems like a kind of awkward time, but… Monobear’s distracted. Two murders just happened. I might be able to pull this off without him noticing.”

            “You really think so?” I said, studying him carefully.

            He nodded, eyes dark.

            I looked towards Kayla. “I’m sorry, but I think his jailbreak plan should be top priority. Do you think you could guard the body? At least for now?”

            She sighed tersely, but nodded. “Very well.”

            As Ash and Kayla took up guard duty, I turned away, sighing as I tried to gather my thoughts. A lot had just happened in a very short amount of time, and I was struggling to put all of it together. “You missed the first body announcement,” Nikita said behind me, making me jump.

            “Shit,” I said, spinning around. “I forgot you were here. What about it?”

            “You missed it,” she repeated, frowning at me. “Why?”

            “I was… asleep,” I said.

            Her eyes narrowed. “So were the rest of us. But we were awoken by the announcement. You were not. Did you…” She seemed to be choosing her next words carefully. “Did you get less sleep than the rest of us?”

            I stared at her. “What, do you think I’m the murderer?”

            “Of course not,” she murmured, tone oddly brusque. “But I _do_ think something happened last night. You are acting more troubled than normal.”

            “N-Nothing happened,” I said, unable to keep myself from stammering. The encounter in the bathroom last night was running through my head over and over again, as though on loop.

            Nikita looked vaguely dismayed. “You’re lying.”

            “I’m not, I’m just—” I shook my head, glancing away. “It’s none of your business. Just drop it.”

            She was quiet for a long moment. “Madison…”

            “I said just _drop_ it,” I repeated, a little sharper than I meant to.

            “Madison, I—”

            “My _name isn’t Madison!_ ” I snarled in her face, turning to look at her.

            Everyone was quiet for a moment. Kayla and Ash had raised their heads to look at the two of us, startled. I was a little embarrassed, but held my position, not daring to show it. Nikita’s gaze was briefly one of complete shock—but it cleared within the next second, reverting to a muted, placid expression. Still, her eyes were wide and focused, as though studying me more carefully than normal.

            Something about her reaction told me that she was hurt. Feeling ashamed, I lowered my gaze first, sighing. “Maybe you should do this investigation on your own,” I muttered. “I don’t want you following me around this time.”

            She was quiet for so long that I had to look up at her again. When I did, she bowed her head, strangely formal. “As you wish,” she said, then quickly turned to face Kayla. “You may go look for your sister. I will guard the body with Ash.”

            “Oh,” Kayla said, sounding surprised. “Well, if you’re sure. Thank you, I appreciate it.”

            Nikita took her place across from Ash. Feeling too upset to even look at her, I took several more steps away from the two of them and then opened my ElectroID. I was frustrated with Nikita, but I needed to calm down and get away from her if I wanted to solve this murder. I opened up the first of the new Monobear files.

            _The victim is Natasha Krasivvy. Her body was discovered lying on the ground outside of the main Kibougamine building. The victim died while the timer was on hour 76. The cause of death was bleeding out from two slashes across her neck, delivered by a serrated blade. There is also a multitude of scratches and slashes over her arms and torso. There are no traces of poison or drugs._

I swallowed, glancing towards her corpse. As much as I didn’t want to deal with it, there was no avoiding any of this now. Lowering my ID, I took a deep breath and stepped into the pool of blood in order to get a better look.

            Luckily no liquid was getting through my boots—but that didn’t make it any less pleasant as the blood sloshed wetly beneath me. Stifling a grimace, I carefully knelt in front of her to get a better look. She was lying on her right side, head resting limply on her extended arm. Her hands were empty and lax and her expression, eyes closed, suggested a distant look of aggression. Scratches and slashes covered both of her arms, and further wounds could be seen between the tears in her shirt. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but think that it looked like claw marks: like a wolf had dug its claws into her. I tried to shake the image away and focus. The slashes on her neck were deep and formed a ragged x-pattern. I couldn’t tell whether or not it was intentional.

                “Hey,” Ash said from the other side of the pool of blood. I half-glanced over to them. “It’s kind of weird that her neck got slashed twice,” they said once they caught my eye.

            “Yeah,” I agreed, looking back towards the injuries. “I mean… the cause of death was bleeding out. One cut to the neck would have been more than enough to make that happen.”

            “Maybe she didn’t go down immediately,” they said almost warily. “Like… there was a struggle, but even after her neck got slashed she didn’t stop fighting back. So the culprit had to hit her again.”

            I sighed. “The scratches all over her support that theory. But… these strikes to her neck are really clean. If there was a fight going on, then it would have been a lot harder for the culprit to hit her.”

            “That’s true,” they said, frowning.

                I glanced backwards, eyes drifting down to the blood around me. I heard a nearby pair of footsteps get a little closer. “If you would allow me to say…” Nikita trailed off.

            I spared her as quick of a glance as I could. “What is it?”

            She dipped her head before continuing. “According to the Monobear file, she died over four hours ago. This means that the culprit had plenty of time to clean up after committing the murder.”

            “They didn’t clean up the crime scene, though,” I said, terse.

            “That probably wasn’t of much importance to them. Though…” She hesitated for a moment, as though choosing her words carefully. “Of course, it’s possible that the culprit was in a hurry to get away from here. They may have been ashamed by what they’d done.”

            “Or they just didn’t want to be caught,” Ash said, voice unexpectedly sharp. “I mean, you wouldn’t have much remorse to begin with if you were willing to do something like this.”

            “I suppose so,” Nikita said slowly. “We… can’t say for sure.”

            I glanced over at Ash to find that they looked a little uncomfortable. My argument with Nikita had probably startled them. Not wanting to be around it anymore, I carefully stepped away from Natasha’s body, a red stamp of footprints following me. It occurred to me that the culprit had probably taken their shoes off after killing her in order to avoid a trail like this. Then they probably ran barefoot to their cell to hide the bloodied clothes.

            Frowning in consideration, I pulled out my ElectroID again. I might as well read Ari’s entry while I made my way over.

            _The victim is Ari Brown. Her body was discovered leaning against the wall behind the back of the infirmary. The victim died while the timer was on hour 72. The cause of death was bleeding out from a serrated knife lodged in her throat. No other wounds are present. There are no traces of poison or drugs._

                As I was reading, I couldn’t help but notice that Monobear had used female pronouns when describing Ari’s body. As far as I was aware, I was the only one who knew that Ari was non-binary, so it didn’t seem that surprising—but upon considering it further, I began to think that it was actually _very_ odd. The mastermind was capable of watching our every move, right? So hadn’t they seen the conversation between me and Ari when they had told me about their pronouns? Maybe the mastermind had chosen to use female pronouns in order to not confuse the other students. But even so, something about it seemed off.

            I slowed as I approached the crime scene, shaking my head. Laura and Caehl were standing nearby each other, a good distance from Ari’s body. I glanced away from them, focusing on the crime scene. Ari was slumped against the wall, their arms limp at their sides. Nearly everything from their neck down was covered in blood, a pool just as large as Natasha’s having formed around their person. I approached slowly, once again loathe to step into the blood but knowing I had to do it.

            Their neck, although not slashed with an x, featured the much more violent presence of a knife. It, too, was almost completely soaked through with blood. It was a simple weapon with a rubber hilt and a steel blade. I raised my head to look over at the others. “Hey, do you guys know where this knife came from?”

            Caehl glanced back at Laura a little shyly, then looked back at me. “The culprit probably got it from the armory. It looks like a lot of the other weapons there.”

            “You’ve looked?” I asked.

            She shrugged. “I studied a lot of the weapons in there during Malcolm’s murder. I wanted to make sure we hadn’t overlooked anything.”

            “Well, it’s a good thing you did,” I said, making a mental note to check the armory later.

            As I walked away from Ari’s body, Laura sighed. “It seems kind of strange…”

            “What does?” I asked.

            “This murder happened a full four hours after Natasha’s,” she said. “But we saw the killer take off only a little while ago. So why did they wait so long to kill Ari?”

            I shrugged. “Maybe Ari was their specific target, and they couldn’t find ‘em at first?”

            Laura frowned. “I guess that’s possible. But then, why Ari?”

            “Why Natasha?” I countered. “Why two people in the first place? Monobear told us we only need to kill one person if we want to leave.”

            “Maybe they just wanted to fuck someone else over,” she muttered.

            I shrugged, thinking of the past two murders. Something about having a serial killer in this situation seemed wrong somehow. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it, but it nagged in the back of my mind nonetheless.

            Before leaving to go talk to the others, I walked over to Caehl. “Hey, do you think you could describe that person you saw to me?”

            “The wolf?” she asked. “Sure. It was still dusk, so I couldn’t figure out a lot of details, but… if it really _was_ a person, then they were wearing this big furred cloak that covered their whole body. The cloak had a hood in the shape of a wolf muzzle that completely covered their face. And I could see they had their claws out. Or—I mean, they had claws on their hands.”

            “Huh, okay,” I said. “Did you see where they ran off to?”

            She made a face. “It looked like they were heading closer to the park, but I can’t be sure.”

            “Thanks,” I said.

            “No problem.”

            I then made my way towards the back of the east campus, figuring I might as well see if I could find Jacob and check up on his progress. I didn’t want to alert Monobear to what he was doing, but I also didn’t want something as important as this to go unchecked. I scanned the perimeter of the fence, looking for him, but was interrupted when I saw Aaron walking towards me from around the other corner of the main school building.

            “Hey,” he said as he approached, brow furrowed behind his glasses. “Found anything useful yet?”

            I shrugged. “I’ve got a few leads. There really wasn’t much to look at on the bodies this time.”

            “Yeah, I noticed,” he said. “Really straightforward kills.” At this he seemed to catch himself, shaking his head. “So I guess this ‘wolf’ is the one who did it, yeah?”

            “Seems so.”

            “You realize that’s gotta be one of the missing students, right?” he asked, studying me carefully.

            “Well… that’s the most likely answer, sure,” I said. “But how do we know that it _must_ be one of them?”

            “Think about it,” he said. “We ran off to look for Ari, who we found just after she was stabbed. We were with all of the other students during the time when she was being attacked—and anyway, no one had enough time to put on a wolf costume. Therefore the person who killed Ari has to have been already missing. So—either Zach, AJ, or Isabelle.”

            “Yeah, I guess that’s true,” I said. “Thanks, I hadn’t thought of that. It certainly narrows the playing field by a fucking lot.”

            He nodded. “We need to figure out which of the two _aren’t_ the killer, and then locate the third. Hopefully they’ll keep the wolf costume on them, because that’ll be a dead giveaway.”

            “Yeah,” I said. “Though that’s all easier said than done.”

            He shrugged. “We’ll manage. Hopefully. I mean, we didn’t manage the last two, but… whatever.”

            I didn’t say anything, not wanting to alert him of the fact that I _had_ solved the last two cases. After a moment he continued: “It still seems strange to me that one person committed both of these murders. Like, why? We only need to kill one person to get out. It’s weird.”

            “Yeah,” I said, thinking.

            After talking to Aaron, I continued my patrol of the fence. Before long I found Jacob crouched on the ground in front of a section of fence, the wire cutters on his pocketknife lodged in the dirt next to him. I approached slowly, sensing that something was off.

            “Hey,” I murmured once I was close enough. “Are you okay?”

            “Huh?” He twisted around to look at me, expression a startled one. “Oh, yeah, I’m okay. I just didn’t hear you walk up.”

            “Sorry,” I said. “I wanted to check on you. Are you making any progress?”

            He glanced down at the pocketknife, then over to the fence, expression morose. “It’s not… cutting.”

            “Your pocketknife isn’t sharp enough?” I asked, confused by his tone.

            “No, it’s…” he hesitated, staring at the fence. “The knife is fine. The fence just… _won’t cut._ It’s not a normal fence. There’s no give. I can barely even move the links, let alone cut the thing. It’s—it’s not right.”

            I frowned, staring at him, then put my hand out for the pocketknife. He hesitated for a long moment, then pulled out the wire cutter extension and handed it to me. I took a second to study it. The blades certainly looked sharp, and a light test against my finger revealed that they could definitely cut. I put it to the fence—and received absolutely no give. The wire didn’t bend or crinkle or strafe or anything. When I pulled the cutters away, there was no mark on the metal. It was as though I had never touched it.

            “This was a horrible idea,” Jacob said behind me. “A horrible idea. I never should have done this…”

            “Hey, calm down,” I said, handing the pocketknife back to him. “Maybe… Maybe we’re just not trying hard enough. Will you stay here a bit longer and keep at it? There’s always the chance that you’ll figure out what’s wrong.”

            He nodded, slowly at first, and then with more speed. “Okay. I’ll try.”

            I tried to give him as encouraging of a look as I could before I left, stifling a sigh. It was just one weird bullshit development after another around here. I didn’t have the time to dwell on it right now, though. There were still plenty of things I wanted to get done before this investigation was over.

            The first was to head down to the armory to see if one of the knives in there was actually missing. I arrived to discover that no one else was inside. The vast selection of weapons available to us from within this room was spread out across each wall and along several different racks, all organized and orderly. It did not take long to find the knife section. Sure enough, a single serrated blade was missing from one of the rows. Its sisters matched the appearance of the blade in Ari’s throat.

            Satisfied with this, I walked back towards the surface—but on the way I began to consider what Aaron had said earlier. Maybe it would be worth comparing the knife to Natasha’s wounds to see if they matched up. Although the two of them had been killed in the same manner, their injuries were different. This was enough to warrant examination.

            I doubled back and got one of the matching blades from the armory, not wanting to go through the grisly process of extracting the one in Ari’s neck. I soon brought it over to where Natasha lay on the ground. Although a little concerned, Ash didn’t try to stop me as I knelt and placed the edge of the blade along the side of Natasha’s wounds.

            It quickly became clear that the slices on her neck were too narrow to have been caused by this blade. It had to have been a smaller one. The slashes across the rest of her body didn’t match up either. My brow furrowed in confusion—I had originally assumed that the knife in Ari’s neck had also been used to kill Natasha, but it now seemed quite obvious that this wasn’t the case. But the Monobear file had described both blades as serrated—so if it wasn’t this one, it had to at least have been something similar. Unsure of what to make of this, I decided to shake it off for now and move on.

            My last stop was to check the prop room to see if any costumes were missing. It was a veritable certainty that what we’d seen hadn’t been a real wolf, but I still figured that I might as well confirm the costume’s absence—especially now that this “wolf” was at large. As I entered the prop room from the green room, however, I ran into Zach on his way out.

            “Woah!” I said, startled. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

            “Jesus, Mads,” he breathed, running a hand through his hair. “Thank god you’re here. I was hiding in the prop room. I was—t-too scared to come out.”

            I stared at him in consternation. “What? Why?”

            “There was…” He stopped himself and took a breath, trying to calm down. “I came over here a couple of hours ago. I was looking around at some of the stuff in here when… the door opened. I saw the green light of a flashlight, and got… nervous, so I hid. I couldn’t see who came in, it was too dark, but they were muttering to themselves and they sounded really angry. They took something off of one of the costume racks and then left.”

            “And you hid in here afterwards?” I said.

            “I heard the first body announcement… and then the second… I was worried that they would come back,” he murmured, expression pleading. “I promise that’s all it was. I-I’m not the murderer. I’ve already killed someone. I can’t gain anything by doing it again.”

            I narrowed my eyes. “True enough. So is the costume still missing?”

            “Yes,” he said. “I just checked. Who… Who is dead?”

            “Ari and Natasha,” I mumbled.

            He swallowed. “Oh.”

            Not wanting to talk to Zach in the first place, I didn’t stick around long. Instead, I made my way back towards the park. My intent was to return the knife that I’d borrowed, but upon approaching the tree line it became clear that I had bigger issues to deal with. Not too far from the manhole, I saw Izzy leaning against Kayla, one hand on her stomach and the other over her sister’s shoulder, a line of blood dripping from the side of her mouth.

            “Holy shit!” I yelled, running over. “Izzy, are you okay? Where have you been?”

            “Trying to hunt down the killer,” she grunted.

            “What?” I said.

            She coughed, teeth grit. As I got closer I could see that blood was pooling at a long slash wound on her chest. As she coughed, more red dribbled from her mouth. “I was trying to hunt this stupid fucking wolf for you guys—” she pointed towards the nearby trees “—but then the fucker attacked me!”

            I immediately spun around, but couldn’t see anything of note. Just a collection of trees, still in the dull air. “What are you talking about?” I asked her.

            “They’re hiding in there,” she spat. “The wolf or serial killer or murderer or whatever the fuck you want to call ‘em. They’re hiding behind those trees.”

             “I’m taking her to the infirmary,” Kayla said, tone serious and expression dark. “I would suggest not lingering around here."

            “Yeah,” I said, not stopping her as she guided her injured sister towards the campus. As they got further away, I turned to face the trees in question. Nothing made a sound. The air was still and the trees were motionless. I was horribly tense and barely dared to breath, but something told me not to move. I stayed where I was, a few feet away from the manhole, and waited.

            Suddenly a shape burst from the trees, moving much faster than I’d anticipated. They ran straight for me, and if I didn’t know any better I would have been convinced that it was a real wolf. The culprit was draped in a long, white furred cloak that clung to their form like a hide to flesh. Over their head was a hood shaped from the wolf’s white mouth, its teeth bared over their face and obscuring my view of their true appearance. Its ears cut the air in front of me, and a long white tail swished out from behind. Fake claws were attached to their hands, flush with the skin. The hide would have been a perfect white if not for the blood that covered much of it in large, irregular patches.

            I half-expected the “wolf” to strike me as they had Isabelle, but instead they shoved me to the ground and then dove for the manhole. As they jumped down I saw a flash of steel—a thin, pointed weapon that they were holding under the cloak. A rapier.

            “Hey!” I yelled, but they had already disappeared into the blackness of the prison. At this point, however, I already knew all too well who was hiding underneath that fur. So I got to my feet and chased after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's technically a JoJo reference in here, albeit a loose one. The culprit attacked Izzy with a rapier, which is Silver Chariot's weapon. And Izzy is one of the confirmed JoJo nerds in this ridiculous group of people. Plus, her injuries included coughing up blood, which happens in JoJo literally every time a character gets injured? It's kind of ridiculous. Like, they'll stabbed in the leg and then a torrent of blood erupts from their mouth. ?????
> 
> Anyway, I think that's the only thing of note.


	17. 3.4 "Seven Heavens"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trial's being split up in two this time, as it's a little more complicated this time.

Trial Part 1

            I ran for the manhole a little too fast and almost missed the first rung, which would have sent me tumbling down to the bottom and probably have killed me. I quickly caught myself and then made my way down as fast as I could, not wanting the culprit to get too far ahead of me. At the landing I spun around, trying to get my bearings. It was daytime, so the lights weren’t out—I saw a ripple of white fur as the culprit ran through the door into the prison’s first wing. I took off after them as fast as I could.

            They were quick, but so was I. When I pulled the door open I saw that I’d closed some of the distance—they were about halfway across the hall. “Hey!” I yelled again, but this didn’t stop them.

            For the first time since this investigation had begun, I wished Nikita was here—she was scary fast and her weapon seemed to have good reach. I immediately shook the thought away, however. It was her fault for not respecting me and using my damn name. I doubled my efforts, bearing down as I charged the culprit.

            At the end of the hall they took a sharp left turn into the next one, darting towards the far corridor that led to the students’ cells. I grit my teeth, determined to catch up.

            They made it down one hall and half of the way down the next before I caught up, grabbing their arm and twisting them around to face me. Thus ensued a struggle that took us to the end of the corridor, where I pushed them against the wall.

            “I know it’s you, AJ,” I huffed, out of breath. “Just give it up.”

            She hesitated, grimacing at me from underneath the wolf head’s teeth. Then she snarled, “Alright, fine. Just let go of me.”

            I hesitated a moment before carefully releasing her arm. She snatched it back and roughly pushed the wolf head off, revealing her face. It was indeed AJ. She glared at me from where she stood, trapped near the corner of the hallway, the blood-soaked wolf pelt hugging her thin frame.

            “Yeah, yeah, I’m the murderer,” she muttered. “You figured it out. Good job. Can I go now?”

            “No, hang on a minute,” I snapped. “What was that shit back there with Isabelle? It looks to me like you’re on the fuckin’ warpath.”

            She glanced to the side. “I just wanted to get down here so I could wait out the rest of the investigation in my cell. But she was in my way, because _apparently_ she’d been following me this whole time. I didn’t want her to figure out who I was, so I… did what made sense at the time.” Her eyes narrowed as they wandered back up to mine. “She’s not hurt too bad, is she?”

            “I don’t know,” I said curtly—then sighed. “Why did you kill them? You didn’t need to do that.”

            “They betrayed me,” she said, looking suddenly angry. “They… were selfish and left me to die. I had to… get back at them.”

            “What?” I said, blinking in surprise. “What did they do?”

            “There was a war, and…” she shook her head, almost immediately giving up on the explanation. “You wouldn’t understand. The point is they double-crossed me in the past, so… I got mad. That’s all.”

            “But you said you weren’t going to kill anyone,” I muttered.

            “I know,” she said. “But that… that person came back. The one that had talked to me before. They told me what Ari had done to me in the past, and I just got so mad, I…” AJ shook her head. “I’m not normally an angry person. I don’t know what happened. But when that person told me what they’d done, I had to get back at them.”

            I rubbed at my eyes, sighing. “Alright, fine. This stupid mastermind fucker screwed us over again. But why did you have to kill _two_ people? I mean… seriously. That was pretty fucked up.”

            She stared. “What… What do you mean?”

            I frowned, studying her again. She was unsteady on her feet, most likely exhausted by everything that had happened. Her rapier was loose and unsheathed, and she occasionally put some of her weight on it. When I looked down at it, something occurred to me.

            “That’s what you used to kill Natasha, isn’t it?” I said.

            She blinked, looking briefly confused.

            “Come on, don’t fuck with me,” I said, sighing. “Just make this easy, okay? I compared the knife that was in Ari’s throat to Natasha’s injuries, and they couldn’t have been created by the same blade. You used the rapier to kill Natasha and the knife on Ari to throw us off. Right?”

            “No,” she said, sounding genuinely offended. “What the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t kill Natasha.”

            “You…” I blinked. “You what?”

            “I didn’t kill Natasha,” she repeated. “It must have been someone else. The only person I killed was Ari.”

            I shook my head faintly. “What? But… there’s no way. What’s the proof?”

            “Look at the Monobear file,” she said simply. “On both of them it says that they were killed by a serrated blade. This—” she gave her rapier a little wave “—isn’t a serrated blade. I used the knife on Ari so you guys wouldn’t suspect me. The only thing I used my rapier for was dealing with Isabelle.”

            “So… there’s another culprit,” I said.

            “Yeah,” she said. “I was surprised when I saw Natasha’s body last night. I thought you might figure out I’d killed Ari, but… I didn’t think anyone would suspect me of doing _both._ ”

            “Then who killed…” I trailed off, realization hitting me. “Oh shit. Oh _shit_. When he said he shouldn’t have done this, he wasn’t talking about…”

            “Who?” she asked, looking curious.

            “Jacob needed a distraction to make his escape plan work,” I said, then swallowed. “So I think he might have made his own.”

            She was quiet for a moment. “I’m… not so sure about that.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “This… mastermind person that keeps talking to everyone,” she said slowly. “They talked to Bree as well. So who’s to say they didn’t also talk to Jacob? He could use the escape plan as his alibi, but… I don’t think that was his reason for killing her. I think this person was involved again.”

            “You might be right,” I muttered—but then shook my head. “I’ll take care of that in a minute, though. I want you to tell me what happened with Ari.”

            She sighed lowly. “Well, the first thing you should know is that they were already dead.”

            This time I wasn’t as surprised as I’d been during the last two. “Okay.”

            “You believe me?”

            “I’ll believe anything at this point. Just keep telling the story.”

            She rubbed her neck. “And the reason I was mad at them had to do with the fact that they were already dead. But I don’t really want to get into that right now. It’s not that important, anyway.”

            I noticed that AJ was using the proper pronouns for Ari—but she hadn’t been before now. So had her memories come back, like it had been with Bree and Zach? It seemed likely. But she didn’t seem eager to talk about that, so I decided that for now I wouldn’t press. “Go on,” I said.

            “So…” she took a deep breath. “So I went and talked to Ari yesterday.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _Things like this were never easy. Not things like being trapped in a prison and forced to kill each other—that was straightforward, at least. It wasn’t “easy”, necessarily, but it_ was _easy to understand. No… dealing with people was the thing that was never easy. Trying to communicate and get along with them. Trying to understand them. It gave Ari a headache._

_Like, for example, how AJ had come to them just before the beginning of Night Time and asked them to meet with her behind the infirmary before dawn. Ari couldn’t understand what the girl could possibly want with them. But she had seemed agitated about something. It was completely unlike her previous behavior, and made Ari even more confused than they would have been under normal circumstances._

_Still, Ari saw no reason to not entertain it. If it turned out to be an attack, they knew how to defend themselves. And if it wasn’t, then it would be harmless of them to see what she wanted. The clocks in their rooms didn’t have alarms, but Ari didn’t mind. They went to bed early so they would wake up before the morning—dawn, as AJ had requested._

_Yes, Ari could defend themselves. They were a good fighter and knew how to be prepared, even in the event of a surprise attack. If AJ tried anything, Ari had absolutely every reason to believe that they wouldn’t be hurt. They were ready._

_Ari wasn’t ready for a body, though._

_Natasha’s corpse, already a few hours gone, served as an immediate and unexpected shock to Ari. They had been expecting knives and rapiers and fists and even guns. They could defend against those things. But a dead body—and the lure of the unknown that accompanied it—was something that no one could defend against. All at once Ari felt exposed and alone._

_They paused, looking around. It was nearly morning, with pale light filling the sky. The air smelled faintly dewy, but there was no sign of rain or condensation. They rubbed at their face, trying to pretend that Natasha’s body wasn’t a few feet away from them. For all they knew, this could have nothing to do with AJ. It was almost morning, so they would have this meeting with her, figure out what was going on, and then go tell the others. Simple. The plan hadn’t changed at all. They were prepared: they could handle this._

_Ari picked up their pace as they headed around the corner of the infirmary. There was no one else around. Once they arrived at the designated meeting spot, they turned in a full circle, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing of note. Letting out a long sigh and trying desperately to ignore the nervousness that was building up in their system, they leaned against the wall of the infirmary and waited._

_In truth, Ari was a very strong person. They could fight off most people, even under less than ideal circumstances. They were more than ready to meet AJ here. They were prepared for a knife attack, or a gun being pulled, or a fist aimed at their face. They were prepared for the potential of getting hurt. They were even prepared, to some extent, for the shock of seeing Natasha’s body._

_But they weren’t prepared for a wolf._

_The shape came towards them from the other corner of the infirmary; a long, wispy streak of white fur. For a moment Ari’s brain couldn’t make sense of what they were seeing—a wolf? It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be. But then they saw the glint of claws, like steel, and the shine of teeth, like diamonds. They couldn’t deny this._

_Ari’s head was going at a mile a minute. Did wolves really sneak onto school campuses like this? Did they even live in this part of Japan? What was it even doing here? Was it hungry? They watched as it began to pick up the pace, charging towards them. Something about its stride struck them as odd, as though it was favoring its hind legs—but Ari was too panicked to put much thought towards this._

_They made to reach for their Taser gun, tucked safely away in their back pocket. Maybe if they could hit the wolf before it got close, they would be okay. But the thing was very close now, and panic made their movements clumsy. They finally managed to raise the Taser gun just as the wolf was near inches from their face—and then Ari was in for another shock._

_It wasn’t a wolf at all. It was AJ. She was in some sort of costume. Ari struggled to understand this; to comprehend what it meant—their efforts resulted in a loud, frightened scream. Before they could get out another sound, however, AJ raised one arm and plunged a knife into Ari’s throat._

_Unimaginable pain engulfed their system. They dropped the Taser as their hands instinctively went for their neck; AJ caught it and, holding Ari steady with one hand, tucked the weapon back into their back pocket. They could hardly believe what was happening. Beneath the wolf hood, they could see a look of rage planted on AJ’s face—yet their movements were calm and controlled, executed with almost a practiced air. Ari’s vision blurred as their throat caught and they tried to breathe. No air would come. Warm red dribbled over their hands as they grasped at their neck._

_AJ raised their head, looking over Ari’s shoulder. Dimly, just barely audible past the ringing in their ears, Ari could hear footsteps approaching. With unexpected swiftness, AJ pushed Ari against the infirmary wall with the hand that had been around their middle. Then she turned and ran back the way she’d come._

_Ari slumped against the side of the infirmary, energy rapidly leaving them. They couldn’t believe it. They had been so ready for anything—any sort of attack—and yet AJ had come up and killed them without saying a single word. They didn’t know what to think. But then, abruptly, they discovered that thinking was no longer necessary as something clicked in their brain and memories hit them like a flood._

_Tears pooled in Ari’s eyes. They could vaguely see Mads looking down at them, but were too busy sifting through the resurfacing memories in their head to care. Shit. No wonder AJ was so mad. That was a nasty trick. But they got what they wanted, didn’t they? In the end, they got what they wanted._

_As consciousness left them, Ari just wished there had been time to say sorry._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            AJ explained the whole murder in a terse, rushed manner, moving through details as quickly as I would allow her. When I was done, she leaned against the wall of the prison and said nothing, arms crossed. I stared at her for a long moment. “You were really pissed at them, weren’t you?” I said finally.

            She flicked her gaze away. “Yeah, I’m… yeah. When that person first approached me, I had no reason to kill Ari. But when they came back the second time… I was just… really upset that they would do something like that to me…”

            “Something like what?”

            Her expression was a painful one. “I don’t want to talk about it. In fact, I came back here because I wanted to hide out in my room for the rest of the investigation. So if I could go now, that’d be great.”

            “I… I guess,” I said, figuring I had no other option but to concede.

            “Thanks,” she said, giving me a sort of nervous look. Then she slipped past me and down the hall to her room.

            After her door closed I stood there for a few moments, struggling to gather my thoughts. A lot was happening. I was curious to find out what it was that had made AJ so angry, but I likely would only be able to see such a thing in one of those hooded figure’s simulations. For now, the next step forward seemed to be to go and look for Jacob. I needed to confirm that he was Natasha’s killer and get his story squared away.

            As I turned to head back down the hall, however, I was surprised to see that one of the cell doors was open. And it wasn’t one of the student’s, either—it was one of the doors for the simulations.

            I cautiously made my way over, looking around to see if anyone else was in the area. All was quiet and still. Everyone was still on the surface, investigating. As I got closer, I could see that it was the door labeled “Jake.” My heart jumped for a reason that I couldn’t identify. I stared at his picture for a long moment before looking back at the door. It was half-open, pitch blackness visible within. Figuring I had no reason not to, I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.

            The total blackness was, as usual, completely disorienting. I tried to get my pounding heart under control as I waited for the lights to turn on—and when they did, I was immediately struck by a cold, bitter wind. I shook myself, pulling my scarf tighter around my neck as I took a look around.

            I was in the middle of a city. By the position of the sun it appeared to be around noon. There were no clouds in the sky, and hardly any wind, but nevertheless it was bitterly cold. It must have been in the dead of winter. I was standing on a street corner, what appeared to be a tall hotel building looming behind me. Across the street were a few shops, all silent and still. There were no people around—but in the distance I could hear the sound of gunshots. They were quiet enough to suggest that I wasn’t in any danger, but it nevertheless put me on edge.

            I did another sweep to look for the hooded figure, and found her sitting on a park bench on the adjacent street behind me. “Hey,” she said. I walked over.

            “Hey. Isn’t it a little early for a simulation?”

            “I suppose so,” she said, frowning. “But… I’m a little worried for the safety of your friends. I think it will help if you know this information before they leave rather than after.”

            “What do you mean?” I said, narrowing my eyes at her.

            “It’s…” she glanced away. “Just a bad feeling. If you know what happened to your friends in the past, I think you’ll have a better chance of effectively talking with them in the present. Does that make sense?”

            “I guess so,” I said. “Just don’t understand why it’s relevant right now.”

            She stood up. “Again, a bad feeling. Shall we?”

            I gave her a shrug. “Where are we headed?”

            She nodded back down the street towards the stoplight, hands in the pockets underneath her poncho as she proceeded forward. I followed her down the street and around the corner, the tall hotel building on our left. She stopped near the glass-doored entrance and leaned against the wall. “They’ll be here soon.”

            “Who?” I asked.

            She shot me a glance. “You’ll see.”

            I offered her a glare before turning my attention down the street. It was then that I noticed the gunshots were getting louder.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _Midday sunlight spread long streaks across the mottled black surface of the street. AJ slowed her pace, eyes grazing carefully over the abandoned cars and scattered debris around her. Ari was a few steps in front of her, form lowered into a half-crouch as they scanned the road ahead. AJ had a tendency to move a little slower than her friend; she liked to keep her eyes peeled and move slowly in order to not miss anything of importance. Ari, on the other hand, wanted to move through a potentially dangerous area as quickly as they could manage._

_The two of them found a compromise in a quick but meandering pace. Today was faster than most, however—they were being chased, after all._

_None of this was supposed to happen. They were merely passing through on their way to what they hoped would be safer and more friendly locations. As the war went on, the east coast had gotten increasingly less friendly, and Ari and AJ, who both lived in the area, had decided that it was well past the time to move west. Naturally, as the two had always been friends, it made sense that they would travel together._

_And anyway, AJ’s boyfriend was dead, so traveling with him wasn’t an option. She missed him terribly. She’d called him Zeb and he’d given her a beautiful red notebook with a dragon on it—her favorite to write in. But he’d been killed during the beginning of the war. He’d tried to be a hero and take down a group of Super High School Level Despair in the area all by himself. It hadn’t ended well._

_Regardless, most of their other friends were also located westward. If they wanted to get into a larger and safer group, they needed to head to where everyone else was. And that was definitely the end goal. Repeated experiences over the past year of wartime had taught everyone that traveling in small groups was a bad idea. They were much safer when they traveled together._

_Of course… AJ also couldn’t shake the feeling that “traveling together” was exactly what the enemy_ wanted _them to do. She and her group of friends had all been given access to a message board that allowed them to communicate with one another despite the challenges the war presented. Many states in the east coast area had fallen to despair like a wave, while only specific states on the west coast seemed to be dropping. It felt to AJ as though they were being herded, like sheep—as though Junko and her army were guiding her and the rest of her friends in a specific direction. AJ hadn’t shared this theory with anyone: it troubled her more than she would like to admit._

_AJ shook herself, not eager to think about it anymore. She paused, looking around. She was standing near the middle of an empty street, a few abandoned cars nearby. She had no idea what town they were in—just that it was somewhere in Virginia. The last time she’d been on the message boards (about two weeks ago, just before they entered the state) she’d informed the others of where she and Ari were and when they hoped to get in contact again. As things currently stood, they were still on schedule._

_It was a few days from the end of December, yet hardly any snow had fallen this winter. Instead it was bitterly cold and windless, the air providing a steady chill that bore into her bones and made her very core feel empty. The war had been going on for a little over a year. For about the millionth time since this trip had begun, AJ wished they’d had the foresight to leave before winter started._

_But, of course, now they had to keep moving. One of Junko’s subordinates, an old friend who had been turned to her side by as-of-yet unknown means, was on the hunt for them. Jake. AJ had never known him well, but it still hurt to think that Junko had stolen him from them so easily. She wished she could get back at that bitch—but how was she supposed to launch an attack while on the run?_

_Based on what little information they could gather, this town had been attacked mere minutes before they arrived, thrown into despair-induced chaos by the arrival of Jake and his troops. Distant screaming and gunshots kept AJ well-aware of the encroaching danger. They needed to find somewhere to hide before Jake could catch up._

_“Hey,” Ari called from the end of the street, voice low. “There’s a hotel down the street from here. We can probably hide in there.”_

_She nodded. “You scout ahead. I’ll be right there.”_

_“Hurry,” they said, then quickly ran off._

_Under normal circumstances, AJ would have taken off with Ari, not bothering to investigate this place when danger was so close on her heels. But out of the corner of her eye, collapsed against the side of a dark green car, AJ had seen a body. She didn’t exactly_ want _to investigate the fallen person, but felt an invisible duty to do so regardless. And she really didn’t want to trouble Ari with it._

_The person didn’t look like they’d been converted to Super High School Level Despair—it was merely an average-looking citizen, wearing a loose long-sleeved shirt (now blood-soaked) and a pair of jeans. As AJ got closer, she saw that it was a girl—her dark hair was in matted disarray around her face, obscuring her features._

_AJ knelt down carefully in front of her. She appeared to have received quite a few gunshots, and by AJ’s estimate was no longer breathing. Curious, AJ gently ran a hand along her side until she found the telltale lump of a wallet and retrieved it from her pocket. Further inspection produced a drivers’ permit: her name was Chelsea Russell. She hadn’t even been old enough to have her license yet._

_Suddenly the girl drew in a ragged gasp, making AJ jump and drop the permit. She scrambled to pick it up, putting it back into the wallet. “Ch-Chelsea?” she asked._

_Taking in rapid, gasping breaths, Chelsea’s eyes wandered over to AJ’s. “Wh… Who are you?” Her voice was full of fear._

_“I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” AJ said. “I’m not one of the bad guys. I’m here to help. What happened?”_

_She shifted slightly, winced in pain, and then ghosted her hand over her bloodied middle. “I’m… there were all of these people in black and white masks. They shot at me. It—it hurts…”_

_“Can you move?”_

_“N-No,” Chelsea said, her eyes welling with tears. “No, no, it hurts too bad. I-I-I thought I was dead.”_

_AJ refrained from informing her that she had thought the same thing. “It’ll be alright. I’ll carry you, okay?”_

_“You can do that?” she asked, hoarse._

_“I’ll try,” AJ said, offering her a smile._

_She was about to reach forward and wrap a hand around Chelsea’s shoulders when suddenly a gunshot blasted through the air. AJ stifled a scream as she instinctively jumped backwards. Looking up, she saw a wound in the side of Chelsea’s head, now lolled back against the side of the car and undeniably lifeless._

_AJ turned to the side just in time to see Ari lowering their pistol, a grimace on their face. “We bought guns for a reason, you know,” they murmured._

_“Y-You shot her,” AJ said, heart pounding._

_“She was already dead,” Ari muttered, eyes lowered in a bitter look of sadness. “She wouldn’t have lived much more than a couple minutes. It was… easier to put her out of her misery.”_

_AJ nodded quietly. Despite herself, she knew that they were right. This Chelsea girl had little chance of survival. Still, her heart ached and her face burned red when she looked at the girl’s body. Swallowing a few times to calm down, she said, “We should take her into the hotel.”_

_“Why?” they said, holstering the pistol._

_“I don’t…” she paused to compose herself, then gave Ari as serious of a look as she could muster. “Look, I know it’s stupid, but I don’t like the idea of leaving her out here, for Super High School Level Despair to trample all over and spit on. Or take her body and do… god knows what with it. It’s not right.”_

_Ari made a face, gritting their teeth. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Alright, let’s carry her to an empty room.”_

_They couldn’t make very good progress while carrying a body, but luckily the hotel was just around the corner. The sensors on the glass doors still worked, and they slid open as Ari and AJ approached. The hotel had been abandoned, and clearly recently—probably around the time of the initial attack when Chelsea had received her first injuries. Despite the chaos outside, very little in the lobby was out of order. It was like a surreal, gold-themed escape from the danger outside._

_AJ wasn’t about to trick herself into a false sense of security, however. Ari quickly placed Chelsea’s legs on the ground, leaving her slumped in AJ’s arms, and ran behind the counter to find some room keys. AJ watched as they hastily activated them on the scanner and then held them up for her to see._

_“There’s 10 floors,” they said. “I got one room on the seventh and one on the ground floor. We’ll put Chelsea down here, and we’ll go up.”_

_“Why so high?” she asked._

_“I figure the higher we go, the less chance there is of us getting caught,” they said with a shrug. “Come on, we need to hurry.”_

_The two of them carried Chelsea to the room as quickly as they dared. Ari unlocked the door and tossed the key on the counter inside, rushing AJ as they carefully maneuvered the body towards one of the beds. AJ pulled the crisp white sheets back and they laid Chelsea out underneath them as neatly as they could._

_AJ paused for a moment, staring down at the body as she struggled to catch her breath. After a moment of heavy breathing, Ari said, “Maybe… Maybe the military will come. Or the police. Maybe someone will find her and give her a burial.”_

_“Yeah,” AJ breathed. “Maybe.”_

_She straightened up and pulled the sheets over Chelsea’s head, covering her. Then she retrieved the girl’s wallet from her pocket and placed it over her chest, opened, the drivers’ permit facing up. She turned to see Ari staring at her. “Just in case,” she said._

_“Yeah,” Ari said. Then they shook themselves. “Come on, let’s go.”_

_AJ followed Ari as they led the way to the elevator. Along the way, AJ glanced out through the wide windows of the lobby—and froze at what she saw. Jake was standing a few feet away from the window, staring directly at her._

_His expression was a sort of bemused one, almost curious, as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His dark brown hair was well-brushed and swept out of his eyes, glasses glinting in the noon sun. He was tall and hulking, but in an oddly slender sort of way, head lowered and shoulders curved in an almost sinuous manner. He was wearing a ragged white flannel jacket and a black t-shirt—he didn’t seem to mind the cold much. His outfit was so normal that it was almost disorienting for AJ to look at. How could someone who looked this normal be dangerous? She hesitated a moment before reaching out for her friend._

_“A-Ari—”_

_Ari looked up and hissed “Fuck” under their breath before grabbing AJ’s arm and running for the elevator. They all but yanked AJ inside, slamming on the button for the seventh floor and letting out a breath as the doors slid closed._

_“What do we do?” AJ asked._

_“I don’t know,” they admitted. “I panicked. Are you sure he saw you?”_

_AJ nodded. “The fucker would have to be blind if he didn’t.”_

_Ari sighed, groaning as they leaned against the side of the elevator. “Okay. Okay, it’s fine. We’ll just bar the door. Even if he finds us, we won’t let him get in. It’ll be fine.”_

_“Okay,” she said, nodding. The elevator dinged as they reached their floor._

_The room was clean and spacious and featured two beds. Not wasting any time, Ari grabbed the chair from the desk in the corner and propped it up against the door handle. Then they went for the desk itself. AJ helped them move it in silence, trying to calm the pounding of her heart._

_A couple minutes later they had a sizeable stack of objects barring the door. Ari let out a terse sigh and sat down on the nearest bed. After a moment, AJ sat next to them. She could tell that her friend was on edge and nervous—she was too, of course, but surprisingly her concern for Ari outweighed her own feelings of fear._

_“Hey,” she said, voice low._

_“What?”_

_“Tell me the story about that girl who tried to break into your dorm,” she suggested._

_Ari frowned. “You mean that idiot white girl? Sarah or whatever?”_

_“Yeah, I think that’s the one.”_

_“Why do you wanna hear that? I’ve told you that one a million times before.”_

_AJ grinned. “It’ll take your mind off all this shit. And anyway, I like hearing it.”_

_“Alright, alright, fine…”_

_AJ listened to Ari in silence, relaxing a little at the sound of her friend’s voice. The two of them were in terrible danger, but this was at the very least a good way to pass the time. They would be okay as long as they had each other. If there was anything AJ was confident about, it was that._

_Some time passed. Well after Ari had finished their story, with absolutely no warning proceeding it, there was a gentle knock at the door._

_AJ almost didn’t hear it at first—all the stuff they had barricaded themselves in with made the sound muffled and distant. But when Ari sat up, suddenly on high alert, AJ did the same. Her heart sunk, stomach twisting in fear._

_“Come on,” a voice said gently. “I know you’re in there. It’s rude to ignore someone.”_

_Ari didn’t say anything, staring at the door as though it were a living thing. AJ took their lead and stayed silent._

_“I’m not a stranger,” the voice continued. “So you don’t have to be afraid of me. It’s your friend Jake, remember? Just because I’m Super High School Level Despair now doesn’t mean you have to be afraid of me.” He laughed. “What, do you think if you open your mouths I’m going to suck the life right out of you?”_

_“How did you know we were in here?” Ari said abruptly, surprising AJ._

_Jake laughed again. “The doors in this hotel have peepholes. You guys barricaded yourselves in but you forgot to cover the peephole! That said, it wouldn’t have helped much. If it was covered it would have only made me more suspicious.”_

_“We’re not coming out,” they muttered._

_He was quiet for a moment. AJ heard a vague rustle of movement against the door. “Hmm…” he hummed. “You two are sitting pretty close together in there. Are you good friends? I don’t want to break a friendship like that up. Seriously, I mean it. I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”_

_AJ glanced over in time to see Ari’s jaw clench. “I said we’re not coming out. That’s the end of it.”_

_Jake sighed, and AJ heard him move away from the door. His voice, though muffled, carried well. “You guys know about spiders, right? Ha, that was a silly question. Of course you do. Did you know not all spiders hunt using a web, though? There are many family groups of spiders that hunt like any other predator—by tracking down their prey and killing it._

_“One particular group I like is the_ Portia _genus. They are very smart spiders. They will mimic the sounds of prey or mates to convince other spiders to come over to them—and then they kill and eat them. They use a trial and error method to protect themselves and ensure victory. I like to think of myself that way. I’m a person who hunts and tracks. I use various methods to determine the skills and behavior of my target. I never strike unless I know victory is guaranteed.”_

 _He paused for a moment. AJ heard the light thudding sound of his shoes as he moved across the carpet, footsteps eerily muted. “Now, you two… You two look very smart. You two look dangerous, in fact. There is no doubt in my mind that if I went to the effort of breaking down this door, you two would have no trouble killing me. So I’m going to think like a_ Portia _spider. I’m going to pick the option that will ensure victory.”_

_The doorframe creaked lightly as he leaned on it. “I like spiders and other bugs a lot, you know. I consider myself a bit of a bug enthusiast. It’s a hobby of mine. Do you two have any hobbies?”_

_“Leave us alone,” Ari snarled. “We don’t want anything to do with you.”_

_He sighed. “Alright, if you insist. It’s a shame, you know. If I’d gotten to know you guys before I became Super High School Level Despair, you’d be a lot easier to talk to.”_

_Suddenly and without warning, the sound of wood cracking and splintering reverberated on the other side of the door. AJ stiffened, thinking he was trying to break in, but then she realized that the sound was too far off to be their own door. A few thuds and creaks later, she heard the wood give way with a crash._

_“I just broke down the door across from you guys,” Jake informed them. “I’m gonna go take a nap in there. You guys come out when you’re ready.”_

_AJ glanced over at Ari. They were staring at the door with a tense, fearful expression, eyes wide and teeth tightly clamped. AJ swallowed. “He’s gonna try to wait us out, isn’t he?”_

_“We’ve got almost no food or water,” they muttered. “We’ll only last a few days at the most. Once we pass out he can break in and kill us or kidnap us or do whatever the hell he wants. We’ll be powerless.”_

_“But… he said he’s gonna go to sleep, right?” she said, standing up. “So couldn’t we just sneak out?”_

_“He brought a whole militia with him, remember?” Ari said. “They’re all probably waiting downstairs. We’d be taken out instantly.”_

_“The window?”_

_“Seven stories up. We’ve got no way to climb down.” They groaned abruptly, head falling into their hands. “I trapped us. I trapped us by going into this hotel.”_

_“No,” she sighed. “This isn’t your fault. If I hadn’t insisted on hiding that girl’s body, we would have made it up here without being seen. I’m the one to blame.”_

_“Then it was my job to insist on leaving her body there!” they said, tone bitter. “I’m supposed to protect you. I’m supposed to make sure you’re safe. And I didn’t. I failed.”_

_AJ huffed. “Well, whatever. You can think whatever you want, but I don’t blame you.”_

_Ari shook their head. “Let’s just wait for now. Give it a day or so. There’s gotta be something we haven’t thought of yet.”_

_So they waited._

_AJ stayed busy, her thoughts keeping her awake as she paced around the room in search of an answer. After a while it occurred to her that maybe they could try to sneak down to the second floor and escape from one of those windows—but when she stepped up onto one of the chairs in the barricade to look out the peephole, she saw that a guard was posted at Jake’s door. And, when she craned her neck to look down the hall, she could see another guard standing by the elevator. She grimaced. For all his brave talk, he still had people there to watch over while he slept. Coward. But her rage quickly fizzled—he’d given them a whole speech about being intelligent, after all. And setting up guards was definitely an intelligent move._

_She glanced back to see that Ari was asleep, curled up under the covers of one of the beds. She retreated to the other one, trying to ignore the ache in her stomach—they’d already gone through the minimal rations they had left. Pulling the covers around her, she closed her eyes as tight as she could. They were going to be okay. She had to believe that. She had to believe they would be okay._

_When they woke up the next day, she and Ari had a long discussion to see if they had come up with a new escape plan. They considered everything from trying to construct a makeshift grappling hook to simply shooting their way out. All plans ended with what would almost certainly be their deaths._

_“A distraction might help,” Ari said, with very little energy in their voice._

_“Like what?” she said. “We don’t have anything to distract anyone with.”_

_Ari was quiet for a long, long moment. “Yeah. I guess not. I just… I just want to keep you safe.”_

_“I wanna do the same thing for you,” AJ said, laughing lightly. Ari gave her a strained grin._

_Jake visited them again halfway through the day. Neither of them said anything to him, barely daring to breathe until they were certain he had left. AJ’s chest felt tight, like a coil was wrapping itself around her heart._

_That night, Ari called over to her from across the two beds, their voice soft and distant. “If they catch us… They’ll send us to Junko, I bet. They’ll send us to Junko and she’ll fuck with our heads like she did to Jake.”_

_“You really think so?” AJ whispered back. “I don’t know. I mean… Junko obviously has some sort of plan. But I think it’s a lot bigger than making all of us Super High School Level Despair?”_

_Ari scoffed. “Next step up would be wiping our brains and making us act out Dangan Ronpa like a fuckin’ bunch of puppets. Either way we lose. Either way our lives are destroyed for good.”_

_“That’s true,” she said._

_“We can’t get caught,” they told her, a hint of panic in their voice. “We can never get caught. We can’t ever put ourselves in a situation where they can get us. They will_ never _catch us.”_

_She didn’t respond immediately, staring at the ceiling. “How are we going to get away from here, then?”_

_“I’m thinkin’ about it,” they said. “I’ll think of something. I promise you, I will not let them get you.”_

_“Okay,” AJ whispered._

_The next day, AJ tried the phone in the room. The dead dial tone rang in her ear, making her head throb. She didn’t even know who she would call, anyway. She put the phone down, silent._

_There was probably a computer room or office in the hotel’s lobby, but they couldn’t get down to the lobby. There was no way to contact any of their friends. On a whim, she pulled out her phone, but there was no signal. The date on the screen stared back at her: December 31st. She stared back at it until the screen went black, making her blink in surprise._

_Jake visited them again. They said nothing to him. He applauded their determination with a conciliatory laugh, and then left._

_That night, she and Ari stayed up, lying side-by-side on the bed next to the window and staring at the clock on her phone’s screen. When it changed to midnight, she whispered, “Happy New Year.” Ari wrapped her arms around AJ and fell asleep like that. AJ didn’t fall asleep until much later, staring at the moon as it traveled across their window._

_When AJ woke up, she found herself tired and bleary from a lack of nutrition and rest. Part of her wanted to go right back to sleep—but then she recalled reading somewhere that if she gave into sleep while malnourished she might never wake up again. Forcing herself to sit up, she was surprised to see Ari standing in front of the window, the cold early morning light illuminating their figure._

_After a moment they turned, looking at AJ. “You’re up.”_

_“Yeah,” she said. “Are you okay?”_

_They did not respond. Instead, they turned back towards the window and took out the pistol at their side. With the dim sunlight pouring over them, they pointed it towards the wall and cocked it, the weapon clicking loudly in the confined space._

_“A… Ari?”_

_They turned back to look at her. Their eyes were filled with tears. “I won’t let them take me, AJ. I won’t do it.”_

_“I don’t want them to get me either,” AJ said slowly._

_They stared at her for a long moment, face crumpling. After a time they lowered their head. “I’m sorry. I’m… such an embarrassment. I was gonna protect you but n-now I’m just… trying to take the coward’s way out.”_

_“No,” AJ said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and walking over to her backpack. “I thought about what you said before,” she said, forcing her voice to stay level. “And you’re right. We can’t let them get us. Either they’ll use us to hurt the rest of our friends, or they’ll put us into some sick fucking game Junko has planned. Either way we lose. Either way we’re as good as dead.” She found her pistol and retrieved it, turning around with the thing clutched to her chest. “So this isn’t the coward’s way. It’s brave. We’re protecting everyone else if we do this.”_

_“You… this is what you want?” Ari said, eyes wide._

_She nodded, unable to trust her own voice._

_Ari turned away from her, facing the window again. They lifted the gun up, fiddling with it for a moment, as though nervous. AJ looked down, waiting, her heart pounding as she tried to stay calm. She wasn’t lying—this was what she wanted. Anything was better than letting Jake capture them._

_“Shooting yourself…” Ari said, voice soft. “It’s different from shooting someone else. I… It’s not…” They turned around again. Some tears had fallen from their eyes, but they quickly wiped them away. “I don’t think I can do it.”_

_AJ stifled a weak laugh that didn’t sound like her own. “To be honest? Me neither.”_

_“W… Will you…?” They paused, swallowing, and then walked closer. AJ stepped around the other bed to stand in front of them, watching. Ari gently touched her arm and AJ raised it, pointing the gun at them. They pointed their gun at her. “At the same time,” they said. “It’ll be easier that way.”_

_AJ considered the position: she was facing the open window and Ari was facing the wall behind her, their right arms both raised and each gun pointed at the others’ head. There was a slight height difference, but it was negligible enough to not be a problem. The incoming sunlight made it a little hard for her to see Ari’s face clearly—but emotions were readily apparent regardless. “Okay,” she said._

_“Okay,” they said. Both of them were still. “What do you think will happen?”_

_She stared. “What do you mean?”_

_“When… we die,” they said. “Do… Do you think there’ll be a heaven, or something?”_

_“I don’t know,” AJ said with a strangled laugh. “I’m usually the one asking the questions like that.”_

_“I know,” they said, their eyes wide. AJ saw them swallow. “I’m gonna… miss you.”_

_“If there’s an afterlife,” AJ said softly. “You won’t have to.”_

_For a moment, neither of them moved. The cold wind from the open window had cooled down the room dramatically, and AJ resisted a shiver. “Are you scared?” Ari whispered, voice cracking._

_“No,” she said, and she wasn’t lying._

_“I am,” Ari said. They laughed a little weakly, then choked on an unexpected sob. “On three.”_

_She nodded._

_“One…”_

_AJ cocked the gun, feeling it click in her hand. Strangely, she wasn’t at all focused on or worried about Ari’s gun. Rather, her attention was directed towards her own weapon and ensuring that she fired it to the best of her ability. Her friend deserved that much._

_“Two…”_

_She took a deep breath. Her last. Ari gave her a smile—on their face was a look of relief, as though they were thanking AJ for what was to come. They swallowed and breathed in._

_“Three.”_

_AJ fired. The air was filled with smoke and the painfully loud sound of the shot. She expected everything to end at that moment, but it didn’t, and the shock of this alone sent her reeling backwards. The closeness of her target and the sudden smell of blood didn’t help, either. She clutched at her head, expecting a bullet wound. There was nothing._

_Panic overwhelmed her system. Had Ari hesitated and not fired in time? Had they somehow missed? She spun around to check the wall for bullet holes, but there was nothing there. There was no bullet at all._

_Her breath coming hard and fast, completely out of control, she peered down at Ari. Their body was lying, collapsed backwards on the floor of the hotel room, a pool of blood bubbling from a hole in the center of their forehead. Dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. AJ had killed her. But she, for some reason, was still alive._

_Her eyes wandered further down to Ari’s pistol, discarded on the floor a few inches from their body. She picked it up, fingers shaking, aimed it at the ground and fired. It clicked back at her almost mockingly. Click, click, click. She ripped it open—it was empty. There were no bullets. The gun wasn’t loaded._

_AJ’s shaking was getting worse and worse, like her limbs were trying to move away from the rest of her. She looked down at Ari’s body and noticed that their left fist was clenched tightly at their side. Quivering, unable to stay on her feet anyway, she fell to her knees and pulled at Ari’s fingers, determined to see what was inside before rigor mortis set in._

_Bullets. A handful of bullets fell out of Ari’s opened palm and thudded against the hotel’s carpet floor. AJ had gone from breathing to heaving. She stared at the bullets as though she could will them to disappear, their image warping in her eyes as they watered with tears. Why? Why was Ari holding these bullets? Hadn’t they been in their gun?_

_AJ knew the answer already. She remembered seeing Ari turn away from her and mess with their gun. She had assumed they were just thinking, or nervous, or both, but she knew now that that wasn’t the case—Ari had been unloading their gun. They couldn’t kill themselves so they had AJ do it for them. But they couldn’t kill AJ, either._

_“You lied to me,” she whispered, the tears overflowing._

_She beat her hand against the floor in sudden anger and frustration. She should have seen this coming. Ari had gone on and on about how they weren’t going to let anything happen to AJ—how they were going to protect her and make sure she was safe. Of course Ari never would have shot her._

_But then… a voice of reason rang clearly in AJ’s head. Ari had also talked extensively about how they couldn’t allow themselves to get caught. They wouldn’t leave AJ alone in a situation where she was guaranteed to be captured, would they? So they must have planned this out. Something must be different now._

_She heard Jake clear his throat from the other side of the door, making her stiffen. “I heard a gunshot,” he said. “What happened?”_

_AJ immediately laid herself against the floor, creeping as carefully and stealthily as she could towards the window. Once there, she straightened up. From here, he wouldn’t be able to see her. Sure enough, she heard the frame creak as he leaned against it. “I can’t see either of you,” he said, sounding oddly surprised, as though this were a game. “Are you hiding from me?”_

_Ari had said that a distraction might work. Now they were dead—that sounded pretty distracting to AJ._

_Of course, rather than commit herself to a risky plan, she could always choose to kill herself instead. Why should she put herself in such a compromising situation when she’d planned on dying in the first place? But, at the same time… Ari had done this on purpose. Ari had done this because they believed that AJ still had a chance. Was she going to throw away her dead friend’s final gesture?_

_No, she wasn’t. Despite it all, she couldn’t. AJ raised her gun and fired it out the window._

_The shot echoed in the empty air. For a moment afterwards, all was quiet. Then Jake grumbled, “I really hope you two didn’t just kill yourselves.”_

_Cracks rippled through the walls of the room as he began to break down the door. Steeling herself, AJ collapsed into Ari’s pool of blood, being sure to position herself so that it looked like they’d died side by side. Although her brain was screaming at her to do the exact opposite, she let the grip on her pistol go slack and stayed as limp as she could on the ground._

_Each hit to the door made her want to shake and scream. But she forced herself to stay still, keeping her breathing low and calm. Finally, the door gave way with one final crack and she heard Jake grunt as he hopped over the barricade. She took in a deep breath of air and held it._

_He was quiet for a moment, taking a few steps forward. Then he muttered, “Fuck.” He raised his voice to call down the hall, “They fuckin’ offed themselves, guys. Go downstairs and tell the others.”_

_Retreating footsteps echoed down the hall. Jake sighed. “Fucking hell, Momo’s gonna be pissed.” He knelt down, breath terribly close to AJ’s neck. She heard a click as he picked up Ari’s gun, turning it around in his hands. “Should have known they might pull some shit like this. Trying to be goddamn heroes.”_

_AJ’s heart seemed to freeze. She was about to run out of air. It was now or never. Before he could react, she shot to her knees, aimed at his leg, and fired._

_He staggered back with a yell and pointed Ari’s gun at her—but all it did was click back at him. He stared at it in shock as his leg gave way and he collapsed against the wall of the hotel room. “It’s empty?” he spat, seemingly to himself._

_Not wasting any time, AJ got to her feet and aimed her gun at him once again, this time for the heart. He looked back up at her with wide eyes, Ari’s pistol dropping out of his hand. For a moment everything was still save for the heaves of their chests._

_“You said something about spiders before, right?” she said, voice unexpectedly hoarse. “Spiders that pretend to be their prey’s prey. Well, that’s what I did for you, yeah? I played dead. You fell for it.” She cocked the gun again. “I guess I’m the better spider.”_

_Jake’s gaze flicked over to Ari’s lifeless body—then down to their gun. “What the fuck did you do?” he hissed._

_She leaned down, jamming the gun into his neck. “Listen, man. I’ve had a shitty fucking morning. But they didn’t die for nothing, did you hear me? They died to save me, alright?” She pressed the barrel so hard into his skin that he started to choke. “You’re a fuckin—piece of shit, do you hear me?” she snapped, straining against her voice as it cracked. “You fucking put us in this situation! This is your fault. But I don’t—I don’t want any more bodies. I’m so tired of people dying.”_

_His expression cleared slightly, but it was apparent that he didn’t know what to think. Before he could formulate a response, she lifted up the gun and struck him across the side of the head, knocking him out. Despite herself, she hit him hard enough to draw blood, making her whimper in frustration. Without any time to do anything about it, she got to her feet and grabbed her bag, running for the stairs._

_She was lucky that Jake had sent the other guards downstairs. As a result she made it to the ground floor without anyone seeing her. Pausing at the landing, she looked out to see an overwhelmingly large group of Super High School Level Despair milling about the lobby. The good news was that none of them were looking for her—they all thought she was dead, after all._

_Keeping her breathing as level as she could, she ran for the nearest exit: a service door that was mercilessly draped in shadow. She slipped out of it into bright sunlight. But before she could feel any sense of relief, she ran directly into someone who was standing outside._

_Panic overwhelmed her. She was going to be caught. But then a familiar voice said, “AJ—Jesus, there you are.”_

_AJ looked up and could have screamed with relief. “Max! What are you doing here?”_

_He stared at her as though the answer was obvious. “Your last post in the message boards said you’d update in 15 days. You’re three days late. I was nearby, waiting for you to show up, and saw that this town had gotten fucked over, so… I put two and two together.”_

_“Thank god,” she said, hugging him. “Ari is… Ari didn’t make it. Th-The hotel is filled with Super High School Level Despair… I… I…”_

_“Calm down,” he said. “You’re safe now. Let’s get out of here.”_

_He raised his arm and she looked up to see that he had a grenade in his hand. “You said they’re in here?”_

_She swallowed and pulled away, touching his arm. “Don’t.”_

_“What?”_

_“Don’t throw it,” she said. “Please. I don’t want anyone else to die today.”_

_He hesitated, lips folding into a grimace, the dormant weapon hovering in the air. His grip on it tightened—but then he lowered his hand. “Alright. Fine. Let’s just get out of here quickly.”_

_“Thank you,” she said, and then the two of them took off. AJ made a point of not looking behind her as they ran._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            “Jesus,” I said as the simulation cut out, grimacing. “No wonder AJ was so mad. That person that went and talked to her probably twisted everything around to make it seem like Ari was controlling her.”

            The figure nodded, turning away. “And then, when AJ’s memories returned, she realized that things had been a lot more complicated than she was led to believe.”

            “So… her memories really did come back when she killed Ari?” I asked. “That’s happened to everyone?”

            “Of course,” she said, glancing back at me. “Zach told you as much himself. But enough talk, you should get going. There isn’t much time left.”

            “I guess so,” I said. “But—”

            Before I could finish that thought, everything was swept into overwhelming darkness yet again. I struggled to catch my breath as I waited for the light from the door to reappear, and when it did I ran for it as quickly as I could.

            Once out in the corridor, I sighed, trying to gather my thoughts. The hooded figure had been shorter with me today than usual. Was something different this time? I didn’t know what to think. All I knew at that point was that I had to find Jacob before I ran out of time.

            I quickly made my way down the hall with the intention of heading towards the surface—but was interrupted by the sound of a voice behind me. “Hey, I didn’t say I was done.”

            I turned to see the hooded figure herself peering from around the corner of the opposite hallway, where the other set of doors was. I stared at her in amazement. “What—you can exit those rooms?”

            She frowned at me. “Of course I can. They’re not separate from the prison or anything. But I don’t want the mastermind to see me, so this is risky.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because they’ll do anything they can to destroy me if they do,” she said, shrugging as though it was obvious. “Now can you hurry? Trust me, it’s better if we don’t get caught.”

            “Well, okay, but where are we going?”

            “To see Jacob’s simulation,” she said, not without a hint of exasperation. “Like I said, I think it will be helpful if you have some of this information ahead of time. So I’m going to show you what happened with Jacob _before_ you go to confront him.”

            “I still don’t understand why, though,” I said. “What am I gaining by knowing ahead of time?”

            She raised a hand, as though she were about to say something profound, but then thought better of it and let her hand drop. “You’ll see what I mean when the time comes. Now come on.”

            She disappeared around the corner before I could get another word in. This was definitely out of the ordinary, but at this point it was seeming more and more likely that this prison didn’t _have_ an ordinary. The only way to get any answers was to play along. Despite how much I didn’t want to be here, I was beginning to see that now. With no idea of what else to do, I took a deep breath and ran after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At 34 pages and 10,233 words, this is definitely up there in the running for longest update. I suppose that's what I get for taking so long to write it. 
> 
> And with this update it becomes apparent that we are NOT, in fact, learning the pre-despair story in chronological order. I debated whether I would even point this out at all, as evidence lends you the information regardless, but I decided it was worth noting for those that might not have picked it up.
> 
> BONUS KILLS  
> THIS UPDATE: 2  
> TOTAL: 6


	18. 3.5 "In Limbo"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WOW IT SURE HAS BEEN A MONTH HASN'T IT
> 
> This chapter has earned itself a trigger warning. (hover for the spoiler) I even gave it a fancy spoiler tag and everything. #themoreyouknow

Trial Part 2

            The hooded figure soon disappeared around the corner. I followed as quickly as I could only to discover that she’d already gone through the open door into blackness. I paused, taking a moment to gather my bearings. She’d approached from the other corridor, opposite Jake’s door—in front of me, now open and leading into blackness, was the door labeled “Halley.” I stared at it for a bit, frowning, before taking a deep breath and proceeding into the dark.

            The pause before the simulation didn’t seem quite as long this time; maybe it was because she knew when I was coming? I couldn’t say for sure—and anyway, I was too distracted taking in my new surroundings.

            I was surprised to find that we were, for once, indoors. The building wasn’t lit, but the early afternoon sunlight pouring through the windows illuminated everything I needed to see. It was immediately apparent that I was standing in a library—in front of me, and on all sides, were tall bookshelves filled with various different titles, all listed in alphabetical order and marked by dusty signs pinned to the sides of each shelf. The place was clearly in disarray. Dust mites floated in the low lighting, and most of the shelves were soaked in dirt and had corners missing from decay.

            I took a few steps out of the maze of shelves, looking around. To my right I saw the doors to an elevator, and several yards to my left was the library’s front doors. Directly in front of me was a service desk, and behind it I could see a door leading into what appeared to be an office. All was quiet and still.

            The hooded figure stepped up behind me, keeping her footsteps heavy so I wouldn’t be startled. “Are you ready?” she asked.

            “I… guess,” I said, making a face. “This is Jacob’s simulation, yeah?”

            She nodded.

            “So I’m gonna find out how Natasha died?”

            She was quiet for a moment. “Yes.”

            “And I need to know this before I go talk to him? For some reason?”

            Her lips folded into a thin line and she turned her head to the side. I couldn’t see her eyes underneath the hood, but something about her expression struck me as bitter. “We need to hurry. You’ll know exactly what I mean the moment you go to see him.”

            I sighed, resigned. “Show me, then.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _Around noon, when the sun was highest in the sky, Jacob could almost trick himself into thinking the library was properly lit. The amount of sunlight that poured in through the windows illuminated the building’s interior in just such a way as to give the illusion of electric lighting. In reality, this place—as well as the entire city—had lost power some time ago. Empty and deserted, it now existed in limbo: a place cut off from the rest of the world by distance and time._

_Colorado was a cold state, with nature creeping through every threshold and threatening to pull everything apart. The city they were currently in had been overrun by despair mere days before Jacob and Natasha had arrived—and upon arrival, they had found this library. It seemed like as good of a bet as any, so they had taken refuge here._

_At this point, Jacob didn’t think much of his schedule. It felt natural to him. After living in this library for nearly a year, nothing about it struck him as odd anymore. It was, at the very least, safe. In the world outside a despair-inducing war waged, nearly two years strong, but the library served as a fortress to protect his group from danger. As long as they stayed here, they would be able to live out the rest of the war in relative peace._

_The library did have its downsides, however—most notably the lack of power. It meant that Jacob and Natasha couldn’t use the message boards to contact the rest of their friends, and hadn’t been able to for some time. The boards had provided a way to get constant updates on the locations of their friends and enemies, which lent big clues as to which areas were safe and which weren’t. Still, the library had held out for them for a year now, so there was no reason to begin doubting it. They had learned to cope without having contact with the rest of the world._

_He let out a long breath, looking around. The group had just finished having lunch a few minutes ago, and soon a patrol would be sent out to check the building’s perimeter. They occasionally sent a group into the city to raid any nearby shops for food and supplies, but the last trip had been recent and they still had enough with them to last at least another week. Things would be relaxed, at least for a while._

_The other good thing about living at the library was that Natasha and Jacob were not alone. After they started living here, a group of three survivors from the city had found them and asked to join: Kit, Rachel, and Gab. The group mostly kept to themselves, and admittedly Jacob didn’t know much about them. But they were helpful and did what was asked of them, so neither he nor Natasha thought much of it._

_Shaking his heavy thoughts away, Jacob turned his gaze from the wide front windows of the library and back towards its interior. Natasha was the only person in the immediate area. She was leaning on the far wall of the library, foot up on the edge of the bookshelf as she skimmed a row of titles with her eyes. He watched her in silence for a short moment._

_“You keep doing that,” he said finally, tone light._

_She glanced over at him, then back down. “I want to know what they had in stock,” she said simply. Her accent made her voice sound deeper than it was, pulling on the consonants and dragging them down._

_“Books,” he said with a laugh. “It was a library.”_

_“I know,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “But everyone’s gone now. The books tell a story—beyond the ones in the pages, I mean. Why these books? Why here?” She paused, eyes narrowing further, then abruptly shook her head. “Ah, but you’re right, I’m getting sentimental. It is unhealthy. You are on lookout tonight, yes?”_

_He nodded. “Though it’s hardly like we need it.”_

_Natasha sighed. “It is a good practice to keep up. Junko’s army is often unpredictable, and we never know when we might next be in danger.”_

_“We’ve been here for a year, though,” he said. “If Junko was after us, wouldn’t she have done something by now?”_

_“It does seem odd,” she admitted. “Everything has been very quiet ever since we got here.” Her eyes narrowed, expression wandering. “It is possible that some sort of mistake was made, and we simply slipped under her radar. But we can’t be certain. That’s why we need to keep watch.”_

_“I know, I know,” he said, letting out a breath. “I’m not trying to argue it, it just… seems weird that nothing’s happened in all this time. That’s all.”_

_“I agree,” she said. “But there isn’t much we can do short of moving. And there is no good reason to do that.”_

_He was going to nod in response, but she turned and walked away before he could. Jacob sucked in a breath before following._

_The five of them had decided to set up the library’s office as their bedroom, with mats and blankets rolled out on the floor. The system was simple: one person kept watch from midnight to six in the morning while the others slept. The watcher was rotated every night, to ensure that everyone was fairly well-rested. Tonight was Jacob’s turn. It was a little inconvenient trying to stay up for six hours, but he didn’t have to do it all that often. And anyway, it was a chore that everyone shared. He was simply doing his job._

_It was only early afternoon, however. There were still plenty of hours left until nightfall. Jacob lingered behind Natasha as she wandered the whole of the library, poking her head through doors and checking shelves for anything out of the ordinary. Her approach was almost militaristic, eyes narrowed as she studied every wall in a firm and unyielding manner. Natasha’s adherence to structure had always struck Jacob as a little humorous: she didn’t even seem to realize that she was running the gauntlet of an old Russian stereotype._

_They found Kit and the others on the roof, sitting above the front entrance. The library had three levels, with the roof making a fourth. A service elevator and stairwell connected all of them together. The roof had initially featured very little save for a few chimney stacks—but since then they had moved a lawn chair, a flashlight, and a walkie-talkie up there. This was where Jacob would be keeping watch tonight._

_Kit was sitting on the side of the lawn chair, one hand cupped over their chin as they studied the horizon. Gab and Rachel were both sitting on the lip of the roof—the former with her legs draped over the side and the latter with hers crossed. Gab glanced over as Jacob and Natasha approached. “Hey guys. Everything looking okay?”_

_Natasha nodded. “I just completed the perimeter check. All appears to be well. Kit, you are cooking tonight, yes?”_

_They nodded. “How does chili sound?”_

_“You always make chili,” Rachel said, sighing._

_“’S cause I don’t know how to cook,” they retorted, grinning._

_“You can make something more to your tastes when it’s your turn, Rachel,” Natasha said. Her tone wasn’t entirely harsh, but Jacob couldn’t help but notice how reserved she was around them. Conversely, the three of them seemed laid back around each other, but more restricted around him and Natasha. Even when one of them threw around a joke, it was in a wary manner, as though they expected it to start a fight. It had always been this way. He thought he would get used to it, but for some reason he couldn’t._

_“I don’t really care that much,” Rachel said, waving a hand. “I really think we should make an extra trip into town, though. I bet we could find a working computer.”_

_“Yeah,” Gab said, turning away from the edge of the roof to face the group. “Didn’t you two say you have a bunch of friends on a message board or something? We could try to get in contact with them.”_

_Natasha and Jacob exchanged a glance. “Possibly,” Natasha said. “I am not sure what we could gain from this, though.”_

_“Warnings about Junko’s army, maybe,” Kit said. “Then we wouldn’t have to keep watch all the time.”_

_Natasha furrowed her brow. “Even so, Junko’s army is unpredictable. The message boards supplied us with warnings and tips in the past, but those were never certain. There is always a margin for error.”_

_There was a moment of silence. “I guess so,” Gab said finally. “Still, I don’t see the harm in trying to contact other people. We can’t stay here forever.”_

_“We’re safe here,” Natasha said a little sharply. “Moving would be dangerous and pose a multitude of risks that we can’t control. We should stay here until the war ends.”_

_Rachel sighed. “I think what they’re trying to say is that it would be easier if we had more information about what’s going on in the rest of the world. That way we could act with more certainty.”_

_To Jacob’s surprise, Natasha hesitated before responding. “Hm… I suppose you have a point. It may be worth looking into. Not right now, though.”_

_“What do you think, Jacob?” Gab said, startling him. He had a habit of falling silent whenever these conversations started._

_He shrugged. “I don’t know. Natasha’s right when she says there’s no real reason for us to move. But… I wouldn’t mind hearing from my friends again, I guess.”_

_“We’ll see what we can do then,” she said back, offering him a slight grin._

_The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The sky bled red and orange as the sun dipped away beneath the horizon, colors streaming overhead to deep blues. The group ate outside on the roof, watching for the stars as they appeared. It was rare for any of them to leave the library unless the group was heading into town for supplies—as such, any chance they got to spend time outside was often jumped upon. Of course, the cold of early winter put a damper on their spirits, but they had plenty of blankets and jackets to fight it off._

_After eating, Jacob listened in silence to the muted conversation between the others. There wasn’t much to talk about—there never was—but at least it was a way to pass the time. Oddly enough, despite it being the middle of a war, Jacob often felt bored more than anything else. Here, at the edge of an empty town far from the action, he could almost trick himself into believing that there was no danger._

_Before long, the others were ready for bed. It wasn’t midnight yet, so Jacob went downstairs with them to make sure the speakers were working okay. The library had a PR system, which Jacob and Natasha had modified in order to route through a set of walkie talkies that the group shared. If he saw anything suspicious while on watch, he could use the walkie talkie to wake Natasha up and tell her._

_Having determined that everything was in order, he figured he’d head back upstairs—but paused when he saw Natasha eyeing him, eyes half-narrowed. “What?” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the others._

_She murmured, “It just bothers me how quiet you are sometimes.”_

_He shrugged a little stiffly. “I guess I don’t have anything to say. If I did, I would say it.”_

_Her expression lowered. “Well, I suppose I don’t have any power over that. I just worry about it sometimes. That’s all.”_

_“I’m fine,” he said, puzzled. Did she think he was upset? “Nothing’s wrong, I promise. I mean—I’ve always been this way, remember?”_

_“True enough,” she said, then offered him a wayward smile. “You should probably head up there now.”_

_“Yep. Goodnight.”_

_“Goodnight.”_

_Now that the sun was gone, it was even colder outside than it had been before. Jacob braced himself against the doorframe as he stepped out onto the roof, sucking in a breath. He dropped his backpack down on the lawn chair and pulled out a blanket, wrapping himself up in it as he took a seat. A moment later, the walkie talkie hissed in his hand. “All is well, yes?” Natasha’s voice said._

_“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said back. “I just got up here. Everything looks okay.”_

_“Good,” she said after a brief pause, the static clicking in his ears. “I’ll leave you to it.”_

_The receiver cut out, leaving him in silence save for the wind. He pulled out the flashlight and cast it in a circle across the empty land around the library. There was, as usual, nothing of interest. He sat in silence for a few minutes, but fidgetiness overcame him. He pulled out his pocketknife and flicked it open and closed, back and forth, testing each blade against the concrete of the building. His hits got harder and braver, sending up sparks. He checked his watch—12:45._

_Around 1:30, he started pacing, walking the length of the roof in lazy circles. He would occasionally shine the flashlight over the edge as he went, letting it stretch over the ground to see how far its light would cast. It was bitterly dark at night. Part of him wished he had a brighter light, but the other half of him knew that would just draw unwanted attention._

_Or would it? They seemed to be alone out here, after all. So they didn’t even need a brighter light in the first place, did they? He shook his head and turned the flashlight off._

_Sometime before three he had to start resisting the urge to lie down. Staying up all night was one thing, but when you were bored and alone it was another matter entirely. He stamped his feet on the hard stone roof; clicked his pocketknife open and closed, trying to see how fast he could flick it; shone the flashlight in his face to wake himself up. A few minutes later, he started doing push-ups. There wasn’t anything better to do._

_Around 4:30, he started hearing footsteps. The sound was distant and he almost didn’t register it at first, but then it started to grow rapidly louder. Shoes pounding against the hard gravel, quick and urgent. He snapped to attention, turned on the flashlight, then thought better of it and turned it off. He didn’t want these people to see him before he could see them. Lying down on his stomach, he army-crawled across the roof to the edge, following the sound of the footsteps._

_It was taking his eyes a long time to adjust, but the voices came easy._

_“It’s locked?” he heard someone hiss, incredulous. “Why the fuck would it be locked? There’s no one around here.”_

_“It doesn’t matter!” another voice retorted. “Just see if you can open it.”_

_Jacob heard the heavy padlock on the library’s front doors rattling. He fumbled in his pocket for the walkie talkie and pulled it up to his face. “Natasha?” he whispered. “Natasha, are you there? Wake up.”_

_He clicked it off, waiting for a response. The padlock clanged against the door. “It won’t budge,” the first voice said, a hint of panic in the words. “What do we do?”_

_The other voice huffed. “Shit… we can’t run, there’s nothing around here for miles. She’ll catch up eventually. Maybe there’s a place to hide?”_

_“There’s gotta be someone inside.”_

_“Why would there be someone inside? This area basically got purged!”_

_Growing impatient with the walkie talkie, Jacob scooted himself further forward so that he could look over the edge of the roof. The angle was odd, but by tilting his head he could just make out two figures standing at the library’s front entrance, huddled together and anxious. He couldn’t pick out any other details in the darkness. Bracing himself, he yelled “Hey!” and shone the flashlight directly down at them._

_Both of them started in surprise, backing up. The first to recover from the light had on a well-worn, simple gray hoodie and glared up at Jacob in annoyance. The other was lean and dark-skinned, with a ski hat on. Jacob’s fear gave way to surprise. “Ryan?” he called. “Neil?”_

_“Holy shit, Jacob,” Neil said, a gasp in his voice. “Jesus. What are you doing here? Where’s Natasha? What the hell happ—”_

_“What the fuck!” Ryan cut in. “Everyone thought you two fuckers were dead!”_

_“W-We’ve been in hiding,” he said quickly. “To stay safe.”_

_“Goddamn,” Ryan said just as his cohort placed a hand on his shoulder, his anxiety returning._

_“This is great and all,” Neil said. “But if you could get this door open, we’d really appreciate it. We’re sort of on the run here.”_

_Jacob studied them in the glow of the flashlight with a frown. “From what?”_

_“There’s… really no time to explain…” he said._

_Suddenly Jacob’s walkie talkie hissed, startling him. Natasha’s voice drifted up from his pocket. “Jacob? I thought I heard your voice earlier. Is something wrong?”_

_“There’s—it’s Neil and Ryan,” he said into the receiver, the two of them watching him from the ground in curiosity. “Can you come open the front door for them?”_

_A pause as she received the message. “Why?”_

_“They’re on the run from something,” he said. “And anyway, they’re our friends.”_

_Pause. “On the run? From what?”_

_“I—don’t think there’s time to explain,” he said. Just before he took his finger off the receiver, Neil called up._

_“Natasha? Is that you?”_

_Pause. “I’m going to need an explanation,” she said. “I don’t want to sound rude, but that seems suspicious to me.”_

_Ryan glowered up at Jacob. “We really don’t have any fucking time to—”_

_Before he could even finish his sentence, the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard. Jacob raised his head. Back in the direction that Ryan and Neil had come from, he could see a figure walking towards the library through the thick of night. They were alone and unhurried. Jacob frowned._

_“Fuck,” Ryan said, legitimate panic now tinging his words._

_“Please, Jacob, you gotta let us in,” Neil said._

_Jacob had never talked to Neil much, but from what he knew of the guy, he was never a person to panic. Feeling a belated sense of concern creep through his system, he turned on the walkie talkie again. “Natasha, seriously, there’s someone coming. I think we should all get inside before they get here.”_

_Pause. Longer than normal. “Jacob. We do not open the doors.”_

_His concern flowered and bloomed in his chest. “Natasha, they’re our friends.”_

_“Those are the rules,” her voice said when it came back. “We do not open the doors for anyone. If they have brought someone dangerous here, you need to get them off the premises.”_

_Jacob kept his eyes on the approaching figure as he talked. He didn’t dare to shine the flashlight on them, but oddly he couldn’t pick out any details of their face, even as they got closer. “S-Seriously,” he told the walkie talkie. “Something’s not right here. I don’t think it’s going to matter if we open the doors or not, we’re in trouble either way.”_

_“In that case,” she said. “It would be better to play it safe and not open the doors at all.”_

_“Natasha!” he yelled at the device, surprising himself. He looked down to see Ryan and Neil staring at him, frightened. Ryan peeled his eyes away towards the approaching figure, then grabbed Neil’s arm and bolted around the corner of the building._

_The figure had reached the building’s front. It was then that Jacob realized, far too late, that he was completely out in the open. He heard the figure’s footsteps halt. Before he could talk himself out of it, he flicked the flashlight down to illuminate them._

_The figure was of average build, wearing a loose canvas shirt and a pair of plain blue jeans. Strapped around both of her shoulders in an x-pattern were two leather utility belts outfitted with rows upon rows of various different knives. Her bright orange hair was pulled back into a messy bun. She looked calm, her arms loose at her sides and her head raised to look at Jacob. None of this, not even the knives, was what made Jacob’s heart pound faster—rather, it was the mask that covered her face, hiding her features. It was shaped in Monobear’s visage—like a stone, slate gray carving of a cartoon bear, the nose taking up her face. The eyes were hollow, the flashlight not bright enough to shine through the shadows. The left side of the face was the normal-looking one, the stone dyed vaguely white. On the right side, where the teeth should have shaped into a jagged smile, the mask instead abruptly ended in a zig-zag shape, exposing half of her true mouth underneath. This small corner of her face was just as expressionless as the mask itself._

_As the flashlight hit her, Jacob fully expected her to draw one of her knives or pull out a gun or otherwise find a way to kill him. She didn’t move an inch, however. She merely stood there, looking up at Jacob, the empty eyes of the mask boring into his skull. All but the wind was still. Jacob couldn’t help but think that something about this girl seemed familiar. He didn’t know what to do._

_After a seemingly endless moment, she appeared to lose interest and turned away, walking towards the library’s front door. Jacob couldn’t tell if she knew where Neil and Ryan had gone or not. He watched, hesitantly trailing her with the beam of the flashlight, as she tugged on the padlock. She lowered her head to study the lock, then retrieved a small knife from one of her belts. She jammed the thin blade into the lock and began to pick it._

_Jacob was stunned. She knew he was here—did she really think she could get away with picking the lock right in front of him? “Hey!” he yelled down. She didn’t move or respond._

_“Hey, you! You’re not allowed in this building!” Again, she didn’t react. Jacob hesitated for half a second before pulling the gun from his back pocket and pointing it at her. “I’m armed, do you hear me? I will shoot!”_

_At this, she paused. Knife still poised in the padlock, she raised her head to look at him and his gun. “Back away from the door,” he said._

_She turned away and continued to pick the lock._

_Suddenly his walkie talkie hissed with noise, making him jump. Natasha’s voice returned. “Jacob, what is going on? Are you alright?”_

_He took a moment to look for the right words and didn’t find them. “There’s—a girl here. She’s trying to get in. She—She won’t stop picking the lock.”_

_Natasha sounded confused. “Just shoot her, then.”_

_“Okay,” he said. He angled the gun, making sure his aim wasn’t off. He wasn’t sure of the strength of her mask, so it seemed like it might be better to shoot her in the heart. Then again—she had those leather belts and all those knives over her chest; what if the bullet ricocheted? Maybe he should just aim for her leg, as a warning shot. That made sense. Now all he had to do was fire. It was easy. Just fire the gun._

_“What is happening now?” Natasha said, sounding impatient._

_“I… I can’t just…” he took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “I can’t just_ shoot _a person, Natasha. I’ve never done that before.”_

_“She is trying to break in,” Natasha responded, incredulous. “You cannot let her do this. You would be betraying us if you let her do this.”_

_Jacob took his hand off the receiver, hesitating, then called down to the girl again. “Please leave! I really don’t want to shoot you.”_

_She did not respond, elbows bent over the padlock. He could hear the knife clicking against the metal. He lowered the gun and fired at the ground next to her, the sound cracking the air and making his head ring. She didn’t even flinch._

_“I heard the gunshot,” the walkie talkie told him. “Did you hit her?”_

_“N-No…”_

_“Jacob! You must not let her get in.”_

_He swallowed. He couldn’t breathe straight. He’d never shot a person before. He felt sick and horrible. He lifted up the gun and pointed it at her leg and fired._

_The bullet tore into her with a sickening sound. Her leg buckled and she staggered for a moment, bracing herself against the door. Jacob was convinced that she would fall over, but to his surprise she straightened up again. He saw her shoulders heave as she took a breath. The mask’s empty eyes looked up to him again. She seemed to study him for a moment, as though considering him in a new light. Then she turned the knife to the side and the padlock fell away from the door._

_He leered forward, nearly falling off the roof in his panic. “No!” The girl was no longer paying attention to him. She opened the door and stepped inside—to his horror, he noticed that she wasn’t even limping._

_“N-Natasha, you need to get out of there,” he yelled into the walkie-talkie. “She got in. I shot her but she still got in. Y-Y-You need to get out of there.”_

_“What?” her voice said back. Jacob could hear the sounds of the other three murmuring behind her, confused and concerned. She huffed. “Jacob, we should be able to handle one lone attacker. Perhaps you should not be on night watch anymore. I will take care of this girl.”_

_The line went dead. It was completely quiet outside, save for the occasional breath of wind. “Natasha?” he asked the walkie talkie. No answer._

_The silence extended on for what felt like an eternity. He sat there, breathing heavy, unsure of what to do. Without warning the walkie talkie flared to life again. He heard a gasp of breath, and then Gab’s whispering voice. “Jacob? I’m scared. The girl is looking for us. Natasha wants to fight her but I-I-I don’t think we should do that. I don’t want her to find us.”_

_“You’re still in the back office?” he whispered in response._

_“Yes,” she said. “The girl is looking in the front room. She’s—oh god—she’s looking—”_

_The walkie talkie cut out. “Gab? Gab, what’s going on?”_

_Silence—but not for long. Suddenly the line flared to life again, Gab screaming in his ear. “Jacob! Jacob, help me!”_

_Her screaming grew incomprehensible. He heard a heavy clattering sound; the sound of something breaking—and then a horrible, wet ripping noise. A gargled choke. Silence. The walkie talkie wasn’t turning off. Was Gab still holding it? Had it broken? He couldn’t respond when it was like this; only listen._

_It was quiet for a moment longer. Then he heard distant footsteps, muffled on heavy ground. Breathing, slowly growing louder. Then a scream, then a second voice screaming with it, then a blunt thud. A clanging sound. A rapidfire flurry of slashing noises, cutting the air. With them, the screaming faded away. Again, silence._

_He was frozen in fear. Slowly, he became aware of the sound of breathing again, this one light and careful. Each breath controlled. By his rough estimate, whoever was breathing was standing about a foot away from the walkie talkie. To his surprise, the person then spoke: “Who the hell are you?” It was Natasha._

_There was no response. He heard the sound of scraping metal._

_“I asked you a question,” Natasha said._

_There was a loud_ whoosh _followed by a thud. Jacob’s heart pounded, but in the next second he heard Natasha let out a breath, seemingly okay. Then she let out a yell and charged at her attacker._

_From that moment on, all Jacob could hear was the sound of fighting. It was impossible to determine who was winning or what was happening. He gripped onto the walkie talkie, frozen in fear, alone up on the roof. Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he going down there to help? He couldn’t command his muscles to do a single thing. He felt empty, as though he were dreaming._

_Suddenly there was a clattering sound and he heard Natasha let out a hard grunt. There was a crackling noise as the walkie talkie moved and Natasha screamed right into it—“Jacob!”—her voice wild with fear. He’d never heard her sound afraid before. There was a horrible wet piercing sound—and then the walkie talkie clicked off._

_Jacob was once again alone with the wind. He sat there, frozen on the edge of the roof, still clutching the half-extended gun in one hand and the walkie-talkie in the other. His breathing began to grow heavy seemingly of its own accord. He already knew what was going to happen next. He knew without even thinking about it. But he didn’t want to admit it to himself, and he didn’t want to do anything about it at all._

_Despite his knowing, he still flinched when the access door swung open. He turned his head very slowly. The girl was standing there, her clothes and her mask and her hands now splattered in blood. She began to walk towards him. He began to cry._

_As she got closer she selected a knife from her belt (which was now lacking quite a few), and held it aloft in one hand. Jacob had lost all sense of reason. He began whimpering, panicked, having already accepted that he was about to die but unable to do it without protest. She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him to his feet, the visible part of her mouth folded into a thin line._

_“No,” he pleaded, holding back sobs. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no…”_

_For a moment she didn’t move. And then the corner of her mouth turned up into a smile—a smile with teeth, sharp teeth, pointed razors in neat lines like blades. “You really shouldn’t have shot me,” she said. Then she raised the knife._

_The access door burst open again and Natasha emerged from it with a roar, brandishing one of the girl’s own knives. She was covered in blood and slashes and shaking all over, but that didn’t stop her from ripping the girl off of Jacob and positioning the blade at her throat from behind. Jacob fell to the ground, watching the struggle. As Natasha made to slice her throat, the girl twisted her head to the side and sunk her exposed teeth into Natasha’s arms. Both of them snarled in pain and rage. Unable to shake Natasha off, the girl staggered backwards, forcing them towards the edge of the roof._

_Seeing what was happening, Natasha tried to keep her ground, but she was too weakened from the previous fight. Jacob saw her eyes narrow as she dug the knife further into the girl’s neck. She lifted her head, her gaze finding Jacob as she reached the edge of the roof. “This is your fault,” she spat. And then they both toppled backwards, falling to the ground with a thud._

_He slowly got to his feet, the wind circling him. His head spun in a daze, Natasha’s words echoing in his head, getting louder and louder. He could barely even register the fact that she was dead, his thoughts entirely encompassed by her last words. She was right. She was completely right. It had been his job to shoot the intruder, but he didn’t. He hesitated and was lenient. He tried to show the girl mercy. If he had followed Natasha’s instructions, none of his friends would have died. But he hadn’t._

_He made his way downstairs, legs feeling numb. He paused on the first floor, choking on the smell of blood, and cast his flashlight around in the darkness. Gab lay slumped against a wall with a knife lodged in her chest. Kit and Rachel lay on the ground nearby each other, their torsos and limbs all sliced up, the deepest cuts visible across their stomachs. Blood was everywhere. He choked, barely able to breathe. The second walkie talkie was lying a few feet away from Gab’s extended hand, the device covered in bloody handprints. He made for the exit as quickly as he could manage._

_Outside, he braced himself for the shock of seeing Natasha’s body. Swallowing, he peered around the corner from the entrance and found her lying there, a splatter of blood in a messy ring around her. Before the pain could even set in, he was overcome with horror at what he saw next—the masked girl, slowly getting to her feet._

_Her empty eyes unsteadily wandered over to him. The mask was cracked from top to bottom but still clung to her face like a shroud. Her legs were half-buckled and one arm hung limply at her side, but amazingly, she was alive. With her good hand she drew a knife and angled it at Jacob, getting ready to throw. Tears bit at his eyes again, his system overwhelmed with pain and despair. He lifted his gun, his arms feeling like dead weight, his hands shaking._

_Before either of them could respond, Ryan rounded the building’s opposite corner and fired three shots into the girl’s back. She wavered at the first shot, and had collapsed after the following two. Ryan kept firing, though. He walked towards her and kept firing directly into her back, face twisted in a grimace._

_“Hey!” Neil yelled at him, emerging a moment later. “Hey, dude, that’s enough! She’s dead, alright?”_

_Ryan’s finger nearly bit down on the trigger again, but he hesitated and then released it, lowering the gun. “Sorry.”_

_“Those things aren’t unlimited, you know,” he said, taking in a nervous breath._

_“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he said. His eyes flicked down at the girl’s corpse, then back to Neil. “She’s dead.”_

_“I know,” he heaved. “I can’t believe it.”_

_“Who… was she?” Jacob heard himself ask._

_“Halley Lador,” Neil said, tone miserable. “She used to be our friend, but then Junko screwed with her. She’s been hunting us for months. We tried to save her, to stop her, but… she was too far gone. I think she always was.”_

_The name was, indeed, familiar. And now that Jacob had it, he could recognize her bright orange hair. His stomach twisted even further at the recognition. He didn’t even know what Neil was talking about—Junko had been “screwing” with people? What did that even mean? He didn’t think he wanted to know. He wanted nothing more than to go back to how things had been this morning, but the peace and silence of this place had been shattered and there was no way to retrieve it._

_“Everyone’s dead,” he whispered._

_Ryan had fallen silent, staring at Natasha’s corpse with wide eyes. He didn’t seem to have anything to say._

_After a long moment, Neil walked over to Jacob and put a hand on his shoulder. The sun was rising. It was 6 AM. “Hey,” Neil said, expression earnest. “Let’s get out of here, okay?”_

_“Okay,” Jacob said._

_~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~_

I didn’t immediately move when the simulation cut out, feeling a little sickened by what I’d just seen. All of this war that I’d witnessed had been awful, but this one struck a particularly strong chord. If it was true that Jacob was remembering all of these things, then I could easily see why he wouldn’t be doing very well right now.

            The hooded figure was standing a few feet away from me, hands in her pockets and expression vaguely a grimace—it was hard to tell without her eyes. I thought of Halley and resisted a shudder. “You should hurry and find Jacob,” she said.

            “Where is he?”

            I half-expected her to not give me a straight answer—but to my surprise she did, hesitating before her reply. “He’s… in the infirmary. In Kibougamine. You need to move quickly.”

            My eyebrows furrowed. “Okay, but what’s going on, exactly?”

            “That’s not… easy to answer,” she said. “Please, just hurry.”

            Before I could respond in the affirmative, she turned the lights out. I choked on the darkness for a few moments until the door became visible and I ran through it, once again out in the prison. The lights were still on. I could hear a commotion going on in the main hall.

            I peered around the corner to see everyone gathered around the center of the hall, where the elevator downstairs had been opened up again. Monobear was pacing back and forth, expression difficult to read. It was immediately apparent that Jacob and AJ were nowhere to be seen. It was clearly time for them to leave, but neither of them were around. The other students were murmuring amongst one another in consternation, looking vaguely agitated. Part of me wanted to investigate this further, but I knew I needed to focus my attention towards Jacob. I slipped past as discreetly as I could, heading for the surface.

            It wasn’t too terribly long of a walk to the infirmary. I headed inside, looking around. After a moment of searching down one of the hallways, I found that the door to one of the operating rooms was unexpectedly locked. I peered through the glass, frowning: it was dark inside, but I could make out fuzzy movement not too far away. “Jacob?” I called.

            The movement blurred—I saw a pair of eyes stare at me from across the room, glinting behind glasses. Teal light distorted my vision as he turned on his flashlight. “M… Mads?”

            “Hey,” I said, blinking my vision back into existence as he placed the flashlight on the surgery counter, still lit. “What are you doing in here?”

            Jacob’s eyes narrowed in a sort of fretful manner. I saw a few shelves open behind him. “Nothing,” he said. “Just… thinking. I just came over here to think.”

            I was quiet for a moment. “You know… Monobear’s waiting for you. He’s got that elevator thing all ready. So you can leave.”

            He was clearly startled by how calm I was. “Mads, I… killed someone.”

            “I know,” I said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

            He nodded rapidly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _Red and blue; chaos and order; harpoon and pen; good and evil. Life was a balance of extremes. To be truly successful, one needed to find a medium. Natasha did not think herself very good at this. At one moment she was too aggressive, her strength betraying her; at another she was too clinical, her desire to keep others calm making her personality nigh unreachable. Never in the middle. If she could find that middle, she thought, maybe she would finally be able to get something done._

_But there was no time for this. There never was. Even when there wasn’t a timer counting down to her expiration, she was always too busy to work on herself. Too caught up in her latest escapade, or job, or obligation. She thought that if only she could find a moment of rest, she would be able to address herself for once. But she never did._

_Maybe she didn’t even want to. It was possible. People were known for their ability to avoid unpleasant things. She liked to think she was made of something tougher than that, but… she could never be sure._

_Jacob, in many respects, was like her opposite. He was quiet and withdrawn, preferring to investigate a situation before participating in it. He shied away from leadership positions. He wanted to do good, but often failed to figure out how. Natasha had only known him for a few days from within this prison, but bits of his character were nevertheless readily apparent to her. She had, in short, not thought much of him._

_So his message to meet him in Kibougamine that night confused her. What could he possibly want from her? She was strong and well-trained and couldn’t imagine that he would succeed in killing her. Was there something she had overlooked? Perhaps he really did just want to talk._

_Like so many others before her, Natasha’s curiosity won over all else. She waited for him outside of the main school building, watching the sun set in silence. Her sniper rifle was loaded and ready at her side. It wouldn’t do much good in close combat, but she felt confident that she could manage._

_He arrived about an hour after the sun had set, walking up in the darkness. He was unexpectedly quiet as he approached, and it took Natasha a moment to even notice him. She picked up her rifle and held it at the ready, studying him in the dim moonlight. He was frowning, troubled, and his gaze seemed oddly unsteady._

_She opened her mouth to say hello, but before the word could escape he drew his pocketknife, one blade shooting out of it, and slashed at her. She stepped back, then tried to swat him away with the butt end of her gun—he was too close to get a good shot in, and anyway it wasn’t her goal to kill him. Metal met metal as he struck the rifle, the force of the hit sending vibrations up her arms._

_“Jacob?” she asked, backing away._

_“I’m sorry about this,” he said, breaths ragged. “I’m sorry. You deserved better. I just—want to put you out of your misery—”_

_She couldn’t make any sense of what he was saying. “Hang on a moment,” she tried. “What are you—”_

_He struck out before she could finish, slicing her neck. Confusion had made her movements slow. The sudden outpour of blood from her throat made her gag, voice lost in a sea of red. She stumbled backwards, struggling to stay on her feet._

_As the blood began to pour from her neck, her thoughts grew muddled and inconsistent. Something was occurring to her. She struggled to put it together in her head. It was hard to make sense of it, because it didn’t make any sense at first: what had occurred to her was that she was already dead._

_“That didn’t kill you?” Jacob said, appropriately surprised that she was still on her feet. “I-It’s just like before…”_

_Before…_

_Yes, she was remembering now. The girl on the roof. Everyone dying. Falling. What was she doing back here? It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter. It was all Jacob’s fault, all of it. Red colored her thoughts just as it did her throat—she lifted her rifle and staggered backwards, pointing it at him unsteadily._

_He screamed at this, alive with panic. He lunged and her and swung the knife back and forth, motions ragged and erratic, striking her over and over again. “Please, please,” he sobbed as he hit her. “Just die, just die… please… this is for you.”_

_For her? Natasha didn’t understand. How could she? There were so many returning memories to sort through—why had she forgotten them?—that it was impossible to focus on just one thing. Blood dripped and oozed from all of her many cuts, and poured without control from her neck. She was fading fast._

_Finally, Jacob stopped hitting her. He grabbed her by the shoulder, as though to steady himself, and then sliced her neck one more time—a burning red X across her throat. A gargle escaped her. She wanted to apologize: before she fell off that roof, her last words to him had been far too brutal. She just wanted to say she was sorry._

_But there was no more time for that now. Natasha fell to the floor, consciousness fading away._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            Jacob recounted the details of the murder for me from where he sat up on the counter of the surgery room. He spoke lowly and softly, hardly ever raising his voice above a murmur. After he finished I was quiet for a moment, considering.

            “Okay,” I said. “So why did you do it? You said you were trying to put her out of her misery?”

            He nodded, expression terse. “Someone came and talked to me before last night. This sort of… shadowy figure. They hid out of sight and told me all the stuff about Natasha already being dead. And that… that it was my fault she died. They said there was no way for her to come back to life for real, so I might as well put her out of her misery.”

            “How is it your fault that she died?” I asked.

            “I… I can’t explain all of that,” he said, a hint of dismay in his voice. “So much happened… there was a war… You wouldn’t understand.”

            “Except I would,” I said, heart pounding. “I saw what happened to you.”

            “What do you mean?”

            I made to open the door so I could come and sit next to him, but was quickly reminded that it was locked. “Could you let me in? We can talk about it.”

            He didn’t move, staring at me from his seat on the counter. “I’d… rather be on my own. We can talk from here.”

            I hesitated for a moment before saying, “Okay, I guess. Anyway, I don’t want to waste time with the specifics, but I know what happened to you during the war. How Natasha fell off the roof with Halley and they both ended up dying. That wasn’t your fault.”

            “Yes it was,” he said, unexpectedly brusque. “I had a million chances to kill Halley before she put anyone else in danger, but I didn’t do it. I was too weak. If I had done my job properly, a lot less people would have died.”

            “And who put that idea in your head? This creepy asshole that came and talked to you?”

            He made a face. “Yes. But what they said made sense. A-And anyway, Natasha said it too. Before she died. She told me it was all my fault. A…And she was right.”

            I swallowed. “Well, if you really feel that way, I guess there isn’t much I can do to change your mind. But what good is sitting in here and moping about it going to do?”

            He stared at me through the window, the room lit up an eerie shade of green by his flashlight. “Mads,” he said. “I’m not leaving.”

            “What do you mean?” I said.

            “If I go down there, if I take that elevator…” he shook his head, looking away. “That’s it. I’m free. All of this is over. And I… I don’t deserve that. Not after everything I’ve done.”

            “What do you mean? Y-Y-You can’t…” I shook my head, trying to pull my thoughts into order. “Jacob, Natasha was already dead, so you technically didn’t do anything wrong there. And what happened in the past… well, that’s the past. And I bet a lot of people—like me—would argue that you didn’t do anything wrong back then, either. So you can’t blame yourself for this shit.”

            He stared at me for a long moment. “Natasha was my friend, in the past,” he said. “I can remember being friends with her. She trusted me. But I never did anything good for her. She was always the leader, and I always followed. I never did anything good at all. I was always the useless one, the dead weight. Too afraid to do any good.” He looked down at his lap. “I wanted to do good for the rest of you. That’s why I decided to take that person’s advice and kill Natasha—I could use it as a distraction to break the rest of you out of here. But even that was useless. It was useless because there’s no way out of here, and there never was. It’s all just a…a ruse. The only way to get out is to kill. And I don’t deserve to get out.”

            “What?” I stared at him in dismay. “You can’t say that about yourself. Of course you deserve to get out of here.”

            He shook his head. “What’s a person like me going to do? What use could I possibly have? I’m just another problem for people, a problem that they can’t solve. A problem that will always get them in danger. I’m better off dead.”

            “H-Hang on,” I said, compulsively trying the door again. The handle didn’t budge. “Hang on, Jacob, listen to me. You’re not useless. You’re my friend, yeah? Hell, you were probably _all_ of our friends back during that war. You… You’re important. You’re not useless.”

            He got up off the counter and walked over to one of the shelves he’d left open, pulling something from it, his back to me. “There’s no drugs or anything here,” he said absently. “No liquids at all, just supplies. Just knives and things. But I don’t want to cut myself. That’s wh-what I did to Natasha. I don’t—I don’t want to do that again.”

            “Jacob,” I heard myself say. “Jacob, listen…” I tried the door again, the handle rattling uselessly in my palm.

            “But you don’t need drugs or anything like that to kill yourself,” he mumbled. “Just air, in fact.” He held up a syringe in his right hand, the needle gleaming a wicked green in the glow from his flashlight. “Enough air in the bloodstream… it’ll clog your veins. Stop the heart. Did… Did you know that, Mads?”

            He peered at me from over his shoulder. I stared at him, frozen in growing fear, and then lunged forward and slammed my fist against the glass. “Jacob, listen to me. Listen to me, please. Open the door.”

            He looked away. “I… I’m sorry, Mads. I can’t do that.”

            My breath hitched in my throat and refused to return to normal. It was like I couldn’t draw a single good lungful of air. I beat my fist into the glass again. “Open it, Jacob!”

            He flinched as the glass shuddered, but he didn’t move. He hooked his thumb around the plunger and pulled it back, drawing in air. An invisible enemy, a silent killer to fill his veins. I abruptly screamed and started pounding against the glass, furious and terrified all at once.

            The syringe disappeared from view as he brought it towards his arm. Each hit to the glass made him quiver slightly, a barely-suppressed sign of panic. Something in my head told me that I could still talk him out of it, if only I could get him to open the door. If only I could get him to slow down for a second. If only, if only. On impulse I ripped my hunting knife out of its sheath and brought it swinging down against the glass, desperate to break it. The door actually _wobbled_ against the force of my hit, but the glass didn’t shatter.

            “ _Jacob!_ ” I screamed. At this he turned around, perhaps spurred into movement by my aggression. He had the needle pressed against the skin of his right arm, just beneath the inside of his elbow. He was shaking all over, jaw clenched and eyes wet.

            “Please, just… stop for a second,” I begged, my breathing ragged. “Let’s talk about this, okay? You don’t need to do this. Are you listening to me? You don’t need to do this.”

            He closed his eyes, his shaking getting worse. “Sorry, Mads… I… I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then pressed down on the plunger, gritting his teeth as the needle pierced skin.

            “Fuck!” I yelled, redoubling my efforts on the door. I beat my fist into it, repeatedly slamming the knife into the glass with the other hand. The door rattled and shook against my efforts, but nothing could make it break. “Monobear, can you hear me? Open the door!” I cried, then immediately remembered that Monobear _couldn’t_ hear me: the thing was outside with the rest of the students, waiting for Jacob to make an appearance.

            Through my blurred vision and rage I saw Jacob turn away from me and stumble, the empty syringe clattering to the ground. He hunched over the counter, waiting for death to find him. At some point I’d started screaming and couldn’t stop. My hands felt bruised. I dropped the knife and beat my palms flat against the glass, eyes watering over as I stared at Jacob, unable to save him.

            When he collapsed to the ground I stopped screaming. The sound just cut out, my mouth still hanging open, as if I’d forgotten how to make noise. I struggled to get a good look at him in the darkness. His flashlight was still on, but it didn’t quite reach the floor where he lay. “Jacob?” I asked, hoarse. I cleared my throat and tried again.

            Nothing. He didn’t move. I couldn’t see him breathing. He was still and empty and dead. My palms slid off of the glass and fell limp at my sides. I was supposed to have saved him. The hooded figure had sent me here to save him. I had been armed with knowledge so I could save him. I had failed.

            He was dead. He’d been alive, hadn’t he? He wasn’t “already dead” like the others had been. He was really, actually alive. And now he wasn’t.

            I’d been crying before, but now I couldn’t even find the energy to manage it. I felt hollow, like I’d been carved out—as though the things that made me myself had been removed. It occurred to me, very slowly and from a great distance, that I seemed to be the only person in this prison who was actually solving puzzles and getting answers. As such, it was my job to protect everyone else. Wasn’t it? That’s why the hooded figure had sent me here, right? To protect Jacob. That was my job. And now, for the first time, I’d failed it.

            I could not let this happen again. I could not. AJ was still out there, wasn’t she? That’s why the others were waiting. I needed to make sure AJ got on that elevator. I had to. I had to. If I could just save someone, that would make all of this better, wouldn’t it? I had to save her. I had to.

            I snatched my knife off the ground and then half-ran, half-stumbled back down the hallway, limbs tight and coiled out of nervousness. It was a short walk to the infirmary, and an even shorter run back. I darted into the main hall to find that the students had split up into groups and were talking amongst themselves, looking genuinely agitated now. I slowed to a walk, not wanting to draw attention, movements unsteady despite my desire to look calm.

            Nikita noticed me first, keeping her eyes on me as I walked. She was standing away from the others, and didn’t say anything. I would have been thankful if it weren’t for how uncomfortable her stare made me.

            Kayla noticed next, and she saw no reason to not say something. “Mads! Where have you been?”

            “L… Looking for the missing students,” I said, barely even thinking about what I was saying before I said it. I wished I could have slipped through undetected, like last time.

            “Oh,” she said. She blinked. “Any luck?”

            “I…” I felt like I was going to be sick. “I need to find AJ.”

            Kayla glanced backwards, exchanging a look with Isabelle. Her sister had a tight wrapping of gauze around her middle and appeared to have recovered from her earlier injuries. Laura stood next to her, eyeing her movements. She looked from Kayla to me. “Jacob’s missing too, you know.”

            “Do you know which one of them is the wolf?” Caehl asked.

            “N… I mean, I…” I grabbed my head.

            “Are you okay?” Aaron said. I looked over. He was standing the closest to me, his eyes narrowed as he studied my every move. Zach was standing a few feet away from him, expression one of concern.

            “I’m…” We stared at each other. “Jacob’s dead,” I heard myself say.

            A murmur ran through the crowd. “What?” Monobear snarled.  

            Caehl stared at me in horror. “It was the wolf, wasn’t it? They’re still killing people, aren’t they? That’s why they haven’t shown up to leave yet.”

            “No!” I had to resist the urge to yell. “No, no, no, no, i-it’s not… I can’t… I just need to hurry. Just—get the fuck out of the way!” I bolted through the crowd, heading for the prison cells.

            “Hey!” Aaron yelled after me, a cacophony of other voices chasing after his, but it was too late. I wasn’t stopping now. If I could just get AJ out of here safely, then this nightmare could end. Then I could finally go back to sleeping. Then I could finally go back to pretending that I wasn’t going to die.

            When I reached her door I started pounding on it despite the fact that my fists were already aching. It took her a long while, but eventually the door opened inward, the teeth of the wolf costume glinting at me in the low light. She hadn’t taken it off yet. If I’d been calmer, maybe that would have registered to me as more important, but at the time it meant nothing.

            “What?” she said lowly.

            “AJ,” I breathed. “You need to come out of there. It’s time for you to leave, remember? Monobear and everyone else are waiting.”

            “I can’t go out there,” she snapped, hand resting on the side of the door as she looked away. “They know I killed Ari. I… I can’t let them see me now.”

            “There’s no other way to get out of here, AJ,” I said, unable to control my tone of urgency. “You’ve gotta do it if you want to live.”

            “I’m… man, I’m an asshole!” she exclaimed. “I let some weird stranger rile me up. That’s the only reason Ari died. If I’d had better control of my emotions…” She shook her head. “I’m an embarrassment.”

            “None of that matters now,” I snapped. “You just need to get out of here alive. That’s all that matters, okay? Just—” I grabbed her arm. “Please, just go.”  

            She made a face, looking startled. “Mads, what the hell’s gotten into you?”

            “Look, if you don’t want to talk to the others, then just run, okay?” I said, ushering her out of her room. “Just run to the elevator. You don’t even have to look at anyone if you don’t want to.”

            She glanced back at me, looking nervous. “A-Are you sure?”

            “Yeah,” I said. “Why not? Just go for it. Just get this over with.”

            “O-Okay,” she said, taking a breath and adjusting the wolf head. “Thanks, Mads.”

            I didn’t even bother responding. She took off down the corridor towards the main hall, the wolf’s tail swishing out behind her—I quickly followed, wanting to make sure that she made it through. It was still light out in the prison, shadows creeping at the edges of the facility’s pale lighting. I jogged only a few feet behind AJ as she bolted out of the corridor and into the hall where the others were.

            Time seemed to slow down and speed up all at once. It was like I was watching a film in slow motion, yet simultaneously watching it on rapid repeat, knowing its events before they could transpire. As AJ darted into the hall, the others waiting for her saw not a girl, but a wolf. Most everyone simply stepped back in surprise, startled—everyone save for Caehl. Caehl turned around, saw her, and screamed. Caehl drew her gun, adrenaline giving her focus, aimed it point blank at AJ’s head, and fired. The bullet was right on target. Warm red splattered backwards from her skull and onto the floor, onto me; she flew backwards and crumpled to the ground a foot ahead of me, dead.

            Absolute silence followed the crack of the gunshot. I’d stopped dead in my tracks, covered in AJ’s blood, for a moment unable to even breathe. Finally I let out a choked breath, followed by another, slow and uneven. My wide eyes wandered down to AJ. She was lying flat on her back, blood extending in a V-shape behind her, body limp. She looked fragile, like something about to shatter. I fell to my knees and reached a hand out, looking for her heartbeat. There was nothing. Nothing but slowly cooling skin beneath mine.

            “I... I-I…” Caehl’s voice was half-shriek, half-gasp. I heard her gun clatter to the floor as she backed up. “I-I-I thought… There was a wolf…”

            “Oh, what the fuck,” I heard Monobear hiss.

            I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move. I sat there with my hand on her heart.

            “W… Was that AJ?” Ash’s voice drifted over to me.

            “Yeah, I think so,” Zach whispered back.

            The room descended into chatter from there. The myriad of voices pressed against my skull. I was dazed and delirious, unable to feel anything but AJ’s fading warmth. I’d told her to run out here. I’d brought her out here. She was slowly going cold. There was nothing I could do.  

            “Mads?” A voice said, unexpectedly close. Pulling myself away from her, I looked up to see Aaron staring down at me, an unexpected sort of softness in his movements and expression. “Are you okay?” he said.

            “A-A-AJ,” I said.

            “Come here.” He put his hand out. I abruptly remembered that I was covered in her blood and looked down at myself, vaguely startled. I looked up at Aaron. I didn’t want to leave her.

            He opened his mouth to say something else, but then one voice rang out louder than the others—Isabelle’s. “Hey, you bear shit,” she snapped at Monobear. “This means Caehl gets to leave now, yeah?”

            The bear wheeled around to face her from where it had been standing next to the elevator. Its expression twisted into an inexplicable snarl, eyes dark. “No,” it growled. “No. Caehl’s not leaving. None of you are leaving. No one leaves until you kill someone.”

            “Hang on a minute,” Ash said. “Caehl _did_ kill someone.”

            “No!” It screeched. “No, that doesn’t count. It’s not—right. All of you, get to your cells, now!”

            “What the fuck?” Aaron snapped next to me. “You can’t just change the rules like—”

            “I said, go to your cells!” It repeated. “I have to clean up now. AJ, Jacob… I have to take care of that now.” It shook itself. “Go to your cells or I swear to god I’ll execute all of you. Go. Now.”

            After a moment of hesitation, the others began to move towards their rooms. What else could they do? Still, I couldn’t bring myself to move. Aaron touched my shoulder. I looked up at him. “Sitting here… isn’t going to help anything,” he said, clearly being careful with his word choice. “I know you don’t want to leave, but it’s going to be better this way. Plus, you know, you need some rest.”

            I got to my feet unsteadily, swallowing hard. Barely able to think straight—let alone walk straight—I let Aaron lead the way back to the cells.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first started planning this story, I had some trouble deciding what I should base Jacob and Natasha's friendship off of. I knew that they were friends IRL, but I didn't know much in terms of specifics. I soon discovered that they both ran an FNAF blog on Tumblr--so I decided to base their pre-despair story off of FNAF. Hence the 12-6 work hours for Jacob, the creepy bear-themed character running around murdering people, the walkie-talkie set up, and the Colorado location. (Colorado because of Game Theory's first FNAF video. I could find no canon location for the Freddy's establishments, so I just decided to use that.) 
> 
> Sorry for this taking a month, by the way. I'm at university now! That's exciting. 
> 
> Uh, what else. I know there's something else important I've gotta say here. Eh, maybe it'll come to me later. 
> 
> BONUS KILLS  
> THIS UPDATE: 3  
> TOTAL: 9


	19. 3.6 "Upper Village"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLOT TWIST CHAPTER THREE AIN'T OVER

???

            Aaron had said I needed some sleep, but I wasn’t getting any.

            The ceiling stared back at me in the blackness of the prison, a blank and fuzzy slate of stone. I was lying in bed with the sheet up to my neck, yet my skin still felt as cold as ice. I couldn’t even be bothered to do something about it. I just sat there, staring, head empty like the rest of me.

            I kept telling myself that I was staying up on purpose. I was waiting for Monobear to finish working so I could go take a shower and wash off the blood. I could go to bed at any time, if I felt like it. But in my heart I knew that wasn’t true. I knew there was no hope of me getting to sleep tonight, no matter what I tried.

            I didn’t know how long I’d been lying there for. It felt like an eternity. I figured Monobear was done cleaning up by now, but I still couldn’t bring myself to move. These late-night hours felt impenetrable, like a period of time that would never end. I felt like I could lie there for years without anything ever changing around me. Constant and stagnant. Covered in blood and hollow.

            I kept seeing that image of AJ lying there, lifeless on the ground. Jacob crumpled in the infirmary, the lighting too poor for me to see his face. Slowly cooling skin. Warm, sticky blood. The crack of the gunshot, reverberating across the hall, filling my ears and refusing to leave; the echo of the sound besieging my head and staying there, slowly growing louder, a constant noise that threatened to deafen.

            These thoughts were enough to consume me. Remembering how kind Aaron had been, I called out into the darkness, “Are you awake?” I hoped he might hear me through the crack in the wall. There was no response, however. It seemed as though he was asleep.

            Sighing bitterly, I forced myself to sit up, swinging my legs off the side of the bed. It was horribly dark in my room. I fumbled around for my flashlight and flicked it on. It cast a sharp, eerie blue glow over the whole of my cell, and I winced at the sudden brightness. There was, as usual, nothing interesting in my room. But the light let me see the splotches of blood on my skin. I shuddered and made for the door, eager to be free of all the red.

            Monobear didn’t show up and nothing horrible happened when I stepped out into the corridor, so I could only assume that the thing had finished cleaning up. It was deathly quiet in the hallway; it felt, for a moment, as though I were completely alone. As though there were no other students in the rooms around me, sleeping. I hated the feeling and promptly began walking, as though trying to put distance between myself and it.

            The prison felt stuffy after being in here for so long. As I crossed the empty hall, the elevator once again hidden beneath the floor, I figured I would take a short detour to check what time it was. I carefully pulled the cafeteria door open, gentle with it despite the fact that none of the doors in this prison had ever made a sound before. For some inexplicable reason, I didn’t want to make any noise.

            The red of the numbers burned my eyes and made my skin prickle. 50.17.13. We had spent so long on Natasha and Ari’s murders—an entire day on those two cases—that now it felt like we hardly had any time left. I wasn’t very good with mathematics (that had been Jacob’s job, hadn’t it?), but by my rough estimation I figured it was around four or five in the morning. It wouldn’t be much longer before the lights turned on and the next day began.

            I paused there in the doorway, muscles taut. It felt like I was missing something. Like some aspect of me was absent from this whole puzzle, and without it I had no chance of solving anything. I felt hollow and alone. I felt carved out and dissected, my pieces glued back together in a jumbled mess.

            Shaking myself, I continued on my way to the bathroom. I nearly headed into the female one until I remembered my encounter with that person the previous night and decided I’d better head into the male bathroom instead. I just wanted to take a shower; that was all. Just take a shower and go back to my cell. Eager to complete this objective, I turned on the water and got to work.

            Maybe I wouldn’t even get up in the morning. What was the point, right? We were going to die anyway, and in only two days. Might as well just sleep through it, or at least try to. Make the experience more painless. Maybe I’d go back in there and lock my door and never come out again.

            Nothing mattered when the world around you felt like a dream. Maybe that’s what all of this was. A dream. What’s the difference, anyway? It didn’t change anything, did it? Either it was a dream and I’d wake up startled, but okay; or it was real and I died. Either way, it’s over. Either way, I finally get to end it.

            Hell, when I really started to think about it, it was like I didn’t know anything at all. What all had I figured out, anyway? There was a mysterious hooded figure showing me simulations of the past. There was a sadistic bear telling us to murder each other or else be killed in two days. There was a creepy person running around and making these murders happen. It was possible that all three of these people were the _same_ person. But what did any of that mean? What could I even do with that information? As things currently stood, the answer to those questions was “absolutely nothing.”

            I stepped out of the shower, running my towel over my head as I considered everything that had happened. Malcolm with his hand pinned to the floor. Zach with his eye missing. Jack with his skull cracked open. Bree looking up at me as the elevator consumed her. Natasha staring at nothing with an x across her neck. Jacob as he raised the needle. Ari, pleading for the help I couldn’t give. AJ, thanking me for the help she didn’t need. Running, racing, bleeding, screaming, cutting, dying. Everything all red, bright red, the red that stayed hidden under the skin no matter how hard I tried to scrub it off.

            There had been so much death since all this had begun—and I only had one response to all of it: What did it matter?

            Though it sounded insensitive, I really meant it. All these people had gotten hurt, both emotionally and physically, and most of them were now dead. What did it matter? Was there even a point? We were going to die anyway, weren’t we? Why stretch it out with this charade; this pretending? Hell, it all seemed so pointless by now that I might as well kill someone myself.

            I paused, listening to the sound of little water droplets falling from the shower head behind me. I considered the towel in my hands, its rough surface, the pale white color; I was hyper-aware of my fingers and palms, as though their every move was firing off more nerve endings than usual. My eyes wandered up to the mirror, staring at myself in the dim light—a person with their eyes wide open, a haunted look of something or other hidden behind the black of their pupils. And then my eyes wandered down again, to my hunting knife on the counter. I hadn’t even realized that I’d brought it.

            I walked over and picked it up from where it lay on top of my clothes. It was sheathed, the carved mouth of the fish spitting out an innocuous spray of water. Without knowledge of the blade beneath, it seemed like a blithe and innocent carving. I flipped it over and stared once again at the inscription on the other side; at the name Buck. Buck. _Buck._ The name inspired nothing in me. And yet, this had apparently been a gift from that person—so why couldn’t I remember? Was all this that damn bear’s fault? Was it the reason that I didn’t know?

            I looked up at my reflection again, remembering the words of the people before me—AJ, Jacob, Bree, Zach—; that they had been told to kill. That the only way to get any answers was by killing someone. That the only way to escape was to kill someone. That the only way to find meaning in a place like this, devoid of meaning, was by killing someone. A theory was beginning to develop in my head. A very dangerous one.

            What if they were right?

            I didn’t want to think about it, but when I did it started to make sense. The only way anyone had gotten anything done in this place was when they chose to spill some blood. And all those people then started to act like they had all the answers—as though the simple act of a murder had granted them something beyond the rest of us. So… what if it had? What if that really was the answer?

            I realized I was gripping the knife so hard that my nails were digging into my palm; I loosened my grip and stared at the angry red marks left behind. As I undid the tension in my limbs, I began to feel strangely calm. My stomach didn’t churn and my head didn’t spin. I felt in control. It was early in the morning—by my estimation, about five AM or so. It was very unlikely that anyone was up, but that didn’t mean this was impossible. I didn’t have a lot of time, but if I was efficient about it…

            I got dressed quickly, trying my best to keep my head clear. My senses were on high alert—every noise, every breath, every movement of the prison’s stone sent alarm bells ringing in my head. I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was just taking a shower. I wasn’t—I wasn’t going to kill someone. Of course not. This is ridiculous. I really should just go back to bed.

            Yeah. Just… Just go to bed. Even if I _was_ going to kill someone, it’s not like anyone was awake. I would have to find a way to sneak into their room, and there was no way that was going to work out. I mean, who was I even going to kill? This was too complicated. I needed to go back to bed.

            Who _would_ I kill, though? I considered this as I threw my shirt over my head, movements clumsy out of my desire for speed. I wasn’t going to kill anyone, I was just… thinking about it. There was no crime in that, in just thinking.

            But the answer to my question came quicker and easier than I thought it would. There weren’t a lot of options to begin with, but… the obvious one showed itself without a lot of effort. There was only one person here who I’d really spent any extended amount of time with; one person who frustrated and confounded me more than anyone else. Only one person who everyone else in the prison thought I was friends with. Only one person who might let their guard down enough for this to happen.

            Now dressed, I retrieved the knife from the bathroom counter and sighed, studying myself in the mirror again. Killing someone was a stupid idea, right? I was just having a moment of weakness. So what if every single person who committed a murder had started remembering things afterwards. So what if I was stuck in the dark and running out of time. So what if every nerve ending in my body sparked at the thought of getting out of here, at the thought of being free; at the thought of actually knowing what was going on for once. Being in control. So what if my brain was screaming for me to get out, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out. So what.

            I exited the bathroom, flicking my flashlight around, and headed for the ladder to the surface. Maybe I’d just see if anyone was awake.

            The manhole made no noise as I pushed it out of my way, but I still took care to be quiet as I put it back. The trees around me were dark, cloaked in shadow. The sky was black and full of stars, but when I looked to the horizon I could see a strip of dark gray—a sign of the impending sun. I wasn’t going to hurt anyone. But theoretically, if I was, I needed to do it quickly.

            I walked over to the gate onto campus, keeping close to the tree line. As I approached, the Kibougamine building loomed above me, its dark black outline eclipsing the sky. I lurked near the gate, looking around. The roof was so high up that I almost missed it, but after a moment my eyes caught the outline of a shape on the roof. Someone was up there.

            I can’t really put into words what urged me to go outside in the first place. I guess I thought that if anyone was awake, they wouldn’t be spending their time underground. Still, it’s a strange coincidence that we were both awake at that moment; both in the same place at the same time. It’s odd that I somehow instinctively knew exactly who it was up on that roof. Maybe things were destined to be this way.

            Regardless, seeing that shape spurred something in me. Before I could convince myself to back down, I turned off my flashlight and darted across the courtyard to Kibougamine’s front doors. My breath hitched in my throat. I didn’t think the figure had seen me—it was too dark. Catching myself, clutching the knife to my chest, I pocketed my flashlight and slipped inside.

            At first I thought I’d take the elevator, but then it struck me how absurd it would be to ride an elevator on the way to commit a murder. And anyway, wouldn’t she hear it? I should take the stairs. I could be quiet on the stairs.

            Of course, however, the stairs took longer. More time to think, more time to sweat. About halfway up I paused on one step, gripping the handrail and breathing in the darkness. I’d been calm before, but that feeling was leaving me now: I tried to remember it, to keep a hold of that peace. This was what I needed to do. I _needed_ out of here. I couldn’t sit back and wait—I couldn’t sit and watch as everyone else died and I failed to save them. I needed out. I needed out. I would leave them to their own devices, they couldn’t rely on me to help—I needed _out_.

            I forced myself to keep walking upwards, conquering the distance one step at a time. The staircase was deathly silent, like a prison—no, like a tomb. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? Not a prison, but a tomb. A hole to put the bodies in. I was ready to add another one to the pile.

            I mean, it… it didn’t mean anything, did it? Not really. Everyone who had “died” before had already been dead. Hell, maybe AJ and Jacob had already been dead as well. I had no real reason to believe otherwise, right? Maybe we were all dead. Maybe we were all dead and this was some sort of purgatory; some hellish challenge we had to complete to move our souls down to the next level. I’m just playing along. I’m just doing what I was told. There’s nothing wrong with this.

            The last few flights of stairs were so dark that I could hardly see anything in front of me. I ascended them more slowly than before, aware of every thud my footsteps made. Would she hear me? Did she somehow inexplicably already know I was here? The fear of the unknown made my very bones shake.

            Though I couldn’t see very well, the heavy metal access door had a presence to its weight, and I felt it the moment I reached the landing. I reached my hand out in the blackness until I touched the cold metal bar—all I had to do was push it in, and then I would be out there on the roof. For a moment I was afraid that the door would creak or slam or otherwise expose me: but then I remembered how quiet every other door in this place was. Quiet, like a tomb.

            My other hand was clutching Buck’s hunting knife—with my thumb I pushed the sheath down off the weapon, letting it fall into my pocket. I couldn’t see the blade in the darkness, but like the door it had a weight to it that gave it presence. It felt like an extension of me: I could feel where it was without having to look.

            I took another moment to fight myself in the darkness, trying to get my breathing under control. Several deep breaths later, I felt prepared. At least as prepared as I could ever expect to be. Gently, carefully, I pressed down on the bar to open the door. It slid outward in silence and I followed it, knife low at my side.

            The night sky felt bright after the darkness of the stairwell. The blanket of stars above me seemed hyper real, like a photo with the saturation turned up. My attention was on my target, however: she was sitting on the edge of the roof with her back to me, her legs draped over the edge, occasionally taking a glance at the stars. When I saw her my blood coursed with adrenaline. My limbs felt so full of energy that I thought they might fall off.

            I was quiet, and she didn’t turn around. Inwardly relieved that I had yet to be seen, I closed the door behind me, guiding it slowly shut with one hand. With it closed, the two of us were now alone on the rooftop. I took in a few more deep breaths through my nose.

            It was a wide roof—I was a good 20 to 30 meters away from the edge. Nikita made no attempt to turn around, and seemed entirely unaware of my presence. What would be the best way to approach this? She was facing away from me… Could I make it painless, somehow? Or at least quick. If I was particularly quiet, maybe I could kneel behind her and slit her throat. That would be pretty quick, but there would be a lot of blood—it would spill over the edge, though, I wouldn’t have to deal with it—but the others would quickly see it in the morning. Would it splatter all over the front of the building? That would look horrible.

            I caught myself, shaking my head. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Just as long as I got out of here, just as long as I got some answers—that’s all I cared about.

            I began to walk slowly towards her, keeping my stance low. I held the blade close at my side, so I would be able to bring it up quickly and efficiently. I felt like I was burning out of fear and nervousness, my cheeks hot. What would I do if she turned around? Run? I could—I could try to push her off…

            The walk over didn’t take as long as I thought it would. I crouched as I got closer so she wouldn’t see my shadow from above. A few steps away from her I could see that she had her head lowered, staring at the ground far beneath us. She seemed deep in thought, her hair falling over her face and her expression hidden. I noticed my hand was shaking and tightened my grip on the knife, breathing unsteady.

            This was it. There was no time to waste. Kill her now, and be done with it. Kill her now, and be free. I couldn’t hesitate. For both our sakes, I had to commit. I raised the knife and swiped it towards her neck.

            Out of all the things for her to hear, the sound of the blade whipping through the air was what tipped her off. She spun around quicker than I thought possible, landing on one leg with the other stretched out, her staff swinging up to reach me. My blade hit the wood and we were locked there, crouching and staring at one another, motionless. Oddly enough, her expression looked just as guilty as mine felt.

            For a moment I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. “You’re here,” she said, voice low, a little shaken. I screamed, surprising myself and her, and then pushed all my weight into the blade.

            She leaned backwards at the sudden force, one foot skidding a little as she teetered over the edge. For a moment it looked like I had her, and she would fall—but then she got her feet under herself and pushed back, both hands on the staff. She was stronger than I expected and I quickly toppled backwards, minimal footing utterly lost. I swiped the knife through the air in a blind panic, hitting nothing.

            “Madison!” she said. I felt ill with adrenaline. I staggered backwards, standing up—she was now up as well, her staff at the ready, watching me carefully. “You don’t have to do this,” she said, voice louder than usual. “I know it seems necessary, but it is not. This can be overcome, despite evidence otherwise. Listen to me.”

            Tears unexpectedly bit at my eyes: I felt ashamed and idiotic. There was no way this could have gone smoothly—there was no way she wouldn’t have caught me. Screaming embarrassment into rage, I charged at her again, knife forking towards her in search of a weak spot.

            She was quick and clearly skilled with her staff, flicking it back and forth to catch each of my hits. Wielding the knife felt strangely natural to me, but even so I wasn’t anywhere near the same level that she was on. My attacks grew desperate and messy.

            At one point she released one hand from the staff and attempted to disarm me, reaching for my wrist; I dodged at the last second, swerving to her right. I stayed close to her side, knife slicing inwards, and nearly caught her hip—but she brought the base of the staff up at the last second, the block unexpectedly aggressive as a result of her surprise. So aggressive, in fact, that I shook from blade to toes upon making contact, losing balance. I realized, then, that my clever dodge had resulted in us switching places—the edge of the roof loomed behind me as I fell backwards. My arms flailed, but there was nothing to grab. I was falling.

            I heard a clatter as her staff fell to the ground, and a millisecond later her hands were around my wrist. I gripped on for dear life, hearing her skid as her feet were dragged to the edge of the roof. It was enough, though—her weight balanced out mine and my feet just barely found traction on the edge of the building.

            We hung there for a moment, breathing heavy—then she yanked backwards and released forwards, her inertia pulling me to safety. Her hand found my shoulder as my feet found their balance. “You nearly fell,” she observed, calm.

            I stared at her, dazed into silence. I didn’t know what to say. I’d just tried to murder her and yet she’d saved my life. After a moment she let out a heavy breath and stepped away. “I suppose I’ll have to let you kill me. I had hoped we would be able to avoid this, but… Perhaps it’s safer to simply give in. Do what you must.”

            I didn’t move. The knife felt heavy in my hand—somehow I hadn’t dropped it during the chaos. She simply stood there, her head half-lowered as she studied me, the staff abandoned a few feet away. I was already out of breath, but suddenly I was heaving, sick and frightened. I threw the knife to the ground, not wanting to touch it. “What are you—What are you saying?” I heard myself ask.

            She seemed to hesitate, dark blue eyes alight. “You have come to grips with the truth of this prison, have you not? That you truly _must_ kill someone to escape. I thought that was why you were here.”

            “Y-Y-Yeah, sure, but…” I swallowed. “You’re just going to let me kill you? You _want_ me to?”

            She looked away, then back to me, furtive. Then she lowered her shoulders and stepped away, pacing back to retrieve her staff on the ground. Her expression was a thoughtful one. “Yes, in a word. This is the way it’s supposed to work. I am supposed to die. But this situation is in flux—I thought I could change it, but…” She looked towards me. “Perhaps we still can.”

            “What—What do you mean?” My heartrate was starting to go down, but my head was going faster and faster. “I don’t understand.”

            “The past culprits were not wrong when they said this is difficult to explain,” she said. “But, to put it simply, you were always _meant_ to kill me.”

            “What?” I repeated, stepping back towards the edge of the roof. “What do you mean? How do you know that? A-Are you the mastermind?”

            Her frame slumped, but only a little. “I must admit, Madison. I have not been entirely truthful with you. Normally I would never lie, but the circumstances of this situation forced my hand. I was uncertain of myself. I was lying when I told you that I had forgotten everything. The truth is just the opposite—the truth is that I remember _everything_.”

            I was too stunned to comment on her use of my full name. “You mean… your memories weren’t wiped?”

            She nodded once. “More accurately, my memories _can’t_ be wiped. I am not real.”

             “What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, unable to stop myself from snapping. “If you’re not real, then what are you?”

            “Many things,” she said, considering. “A ghost of sorts. An imaginary friend. An idea given sentience. To you, a tulpa. There is no simple answer. But in any case, I am not like you; I cannot be forced to forget.”

            “So—okay,” I said, getting my breath back. I took a few steps forward, trying to force myself to relax. I could barely understand any of what she was saying, but it was far better than the void of knowledge that had preceded this. “Okay. Tell me what’s going on, then. Who are you? What’s your title?”

            “Nikita,” she said, “I have no last name. Our titles, in truth, do not matter—we are not actually students at Hope’s Peak Academy. Such a place does not actually exist.” She hesitated for a moment, glancing away. “But, because I am not real, you could say that I have no title at all, for I would never have been a student.”

            “That’s a… fuck of an answer,” I said.

            “Apologies.” Her brow furrowed. “Though, if it would help—your knife. It has a name on it, does it not? Buck.”

            I nodded.

            “I knew him, once,” she said. “As did you. I was his imaginary friend. So, if it would make things easier for you, then you may call me the Super High School Level Imaginary Friend.”

            Yeah, I really wasn’t following a word of this. But at least I was getting some answers. The more she talked, the calmer I felt myself become. “Okay. So I was… supposed to kill you?”

            “Yes,” she said. “The prison was set up this way, to ensure that you would be trapped. If you were to successfully kill me, you would be able to leave. You are literally incapable of doing so until I am dead.” She averted her gaze, frowning. “That’s the simple answer. The truth, at least as I understand it, is far more complex.”

            “Please,” I said. “ _Please_ tell me.”

            She was quiet for a moment, frown staying on her face. Her eyes wandered downwards to Buck’s knife, abandoned on the ground. I walked over and picked it up, sheathing it. Nikita said she had known this Buck person? She was his _imaginary friend?_ How in the hell was I talking to someone else’s imaginary friend? How the hell had I just been about to _kill_ an imaginary friend? I raised my head to see her looking at me. “It’s a rather long story,” she said.

            I glanced skyward. The sun was rising. The fifth day was about to begin. I looked back towards her with a pained grin.

            “I’ve got time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, NOW Chapter Three is over. 
> 
> Been waitin' to post this one a loooong time. Hope you like it.


	20. 4.1 "Alter Ego of the Real World"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, hopefully for good.

<style>

<repose>

content: “(“ attr(newview) ”)”;

a:after { (kindle), (dux) }

</style>

</repose>

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<OLIVIA>

}

CHAPTER FOUR: There Is Always A Way

            As the sun rose, the light coming in from the window made it hard for me to get a good look at the computer screen. Nikita and Mads’ images blurred beneath a flush of white when the glare hit my eyes. I looked away, towards the window. I was relieved that the prison and the real world were on the same time schedule—it made things considerably less confusing. But then again I was also finding myself losing an absurd amount of sleep as I struggled to keep up with Mads’ erratic pace. So who was the real winner here?

            The answer, of course, was no one. I got up and wandered window-wards. From the top of the mansion’s turret, I could see out across much of the forested landscape beneath me. Snow blanketed the ground, more of it falling in light droves from the sky. I could feel the cold of the windowpane without having to touch it. After we got to the mansion, winter had quickly descended. I figured the lack of air pollution was making things colder. Sighing, I glanced back towards the computer. On the screen, Nikita and Mads were talking—considering the subject, I imagined they would be at it for quite a while.

            My name is Olivia Fishwick, and I have a lot of explaining to do.

            See, it’s not that the subject is all that hard to explain. Zach and Nikita and Bree and the others kept _saying_ it is, but that’s not really what they meant. What’s overwhelming about it is the sheer _amount_ of information that one has to get through in order to understand. This prison, these simulations, this mutual killing—it had started out simple. Really, it had. But it wasn’t anymore. It had gotten complicated. Complicated and _tetchy._ And that alone was enough to make it almost impossible for Mads to get anything done.

            I made a face, eyeing the room around me. Over the past week, the bedroom at the top of the mansion’s turret had been rapidly transformed into my workspace. Long bundles of snaking wires had replaced rugs and a huge, pod-like machine that glowed a soft green had replaced the bed; the computer overwhelmed the desk and papers overwhelmed the walls. It was a pretty big room, but the amassment of objects and machinery dominating its space made it feel small.

            Flynt told me it looked messy and disorganized—and in truth he was probably right—but everything looked orderly to my eyes. The only entryway into the room was a heavy wooden door leading to the turret staircase outside: to the immediate right of this was all the big machines and chords that did the bulk of the processing work around here. Lining the wall to the right of this was the pod-like machine I’d mentioned earlier; on the next right wall was my desk, also covered in various wires (plus my computer). On the wall behind it I’d tacked up probably more papers than was really necessary, plus an analog clock to keep track of the prison timer. The final wall featured a window, plus the mirror rig I’d set up to hijack the prison’s portal. More on all that later.

            I suppose, I guess, I was sort of like the mastermind around here.

            Well, okay, not _really._ It’s not like I was controlling Monobear or anything, and even if I was I still wouldn’t be pulling all the strings. And I personally don’t think “mysterious hooded figure” really classifies as a mastermind in this situation—I was just trying to keep more people from getting killed. Running around in a hood and poncho and duly sifting through the grim memories of everyone’s personal history hardly made me fit for the title of mastermind—but it was certainly easier to describe me that way.

            That said, the term mastermind implies that I have all the answers, and I certainly don’t. (Just most of them.) I don’t know who’s controlling Monobear, or why Nikita’s memories weren’t wiped when mine were, or why Caehl showed up in the prison. Of course I have theories for all of these things, but all are just hunches and not worth worrying about at this exact moment.

            …Nor was my nebulous status as caretaker of this prison. I figured I had some time to kill while Nikita and Mads were talking, but not nearly enough to sit idly by and _reminisce._ The timer was still ticking down, after all. Shaking myself, I headed through the door, hand quickly finding the spiraling guardrail as I trotted down the stairs. We kept the mansion warm via fireplace, but the building’s turret was cut off by cold stone walls. I moved quickly down from fourth to second floor and through the doors, eager to be back in the warmth. No need to stop at the third floor, as we weren’t really using it right now.

            Once out of the narrow hallway leading to the tower, I was standing near the staircase in the mansion proper. The warm wooden hall was lit mostly by candles; we had electricity, but only in certain rooms. Taking a deep and wholly unnecessary breath, I figured I’d make my usual rounds and see what the others were up to.

            Of course, the downside to being on the same time schedule as the prison was that it was currently around 6 AM. I wasn’t expecting everyone to be awake—but that wasn’t going to stop me from checking up on them. Admittedly, all our sleep schedules had been a little destroyed by all this chaos. I just had it the worst.

            Neil was asleep in his room, so I quickly moved on. When I poked my head through Flynt’s door, however, I saw him sitting on his bed, flipping through some of Junko’s files. “Hey Flynt,” I said as I entered, hands finding my trench coat pockets.

            He glanced up, offering me a half-smile from behind his hair. “You know you don’t have to keep calling me that,” he said.

            “I like it,” I said. “It’s ironic.”

            “Why?”

            I raised an eyebrow. “Because you burned a bitch to the ground. Why else?”

            He disguised his laugh with a sigh. “Sure, but it was still Junko’s nickname in the first place. She came up with it. It’s _hers,_ not mine.”

            “True enough,” I said, studying him with a careful eye. “Alright, very well, _Tristan._ If that’s the name you would have of me, then so be it.”

            “I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed again as he realized I wasn’t being serious. “Yes, that’s perfect. Thanks, Olivia.”

            I grinned at him, but my thoughts were less lighthearted. Ever since we’d escaped the camp, we’d been finding a lot of unexpected information amidst Junko’s files—Flynt’s real name included among them. Not to mention where the prison was located, and what we would have to do to free the people inside. What _I_ would have to do, more accurately. We thought we’d been free when we left Junko buried in that rubble, but as it turned out she still had a whole other maze of traps set for us. I was determined to find the way out.

            Flynt—or Tristan, rather—put down the file and looked up at me. “Honestly, even if it was Junko’s nickname for me, I don’t mind Flynt too much. It’s okay.”

            “Nah,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to start calling you by the proper name, anyway. It’s just something I have trouble getting used to. There’s a lot of meaning in a name. Switching them around gets a little disorienting.”

            “I understand,” he said. I wasn’t sure if he did, but all the same.

            “What are you reading this time?” I asked.

            “Stuff about the tulpas,” he said. “ _Again._ I can’t shake the feeling that we’re missing something, you know? Like why Caehl is there, and who the last tulpa is supposed to be. It feels like Junko left something out.”

            “I don’t think she did,” I said. “She would have wanted to give us the best possible chance at solving this thing. You know, for maximum despair.”

            “Then why can’t we figure it out?” he asked. “You’re the one who brought everything back from the catacombs. Are you sure you didn’t leave anything behind?”

            “Quite sure,” I said, not without a tinge of bitterness. “It’s okay, Fl—Tristan. We don’t need Junko’s help to save them.”

            “We already lost two,” he grumbled.

            I fell silent, studying him. Jacob and AJ… there were no good answers to what had happened. Maybe if I’d moved faster, or tried to take care of it myself, or maybe even tried speaking to them directly… Would it have done any good? I couldn’t say.

            “Sorry,” Tristan said when I didn’t respond. “That probably sounded a little insensitive. I didn’t mean—you’re doing a great job.”

            “It’s okay, I know what you meant,” I said. “We’re gonna get through this, alright? I promise.”

            “Don’t sound so confident,” he said with another small grin. “It’s unnerving.”

            I snickered at him, shaking my head before I left the room. Tristan no longer seemed as troubled as he had before we got to the mansion—even discovering his real name didn’t seem to perturb him that much. I occasionally wondered if this was a side effect of us becoming numb, or if we were simply better at handling strain than we’d been before. I wasn’t sure which outcome was better, either.

            Calise was also asleep when I checked, which made my room the next in the loop. It wasn’t just my room, though—Haley and I had decided to share a room together when we first moved in here. We were anticipating the arrival of more students once we got them out of the prison, after all, so it made sense for a few of us to double up. Plus, Haley hadn’t wanted to spend the first night alone. Neither did I, but the difference was that I didn’t need to say it.

            I carefully cracked the door open, poking my head in first, and found Haley sitting on her mattress on the floor. She was staring down at Dani’s laptop in her hands, expression flat. We’d recovered her laptop from the campsite along with everything else, and occasionally attempted to get a signal with it. No luck as of yet. _Someone_ out there had to be trying to restore Wi-Fi, but it seemed as though that person wasn’t anywhere around here.

            “Hey,” I said as I entered. “How are things?”

            “Hey,” she said. “Pretty good.”

            “Trying to find a signal?”

            She flicked her eyes up to me from behind her glasses, then down again; a quick look. “Uh—no, actually. I was just looking at some of the pictures she saved on her computer. She’s got some really funny reaction images in here.”

            I snorted, then knelt down to take a look myself. Some of the images were animated, others not; some captioned while others spoke for themselves. A few, at a glance, were trying their best to be unnerving. I snickered lightly and sat back on her mattress. “I wonder if she ever used any of those on the message boards.”

            “During the war, you mean?” Haley said, looking up. “Heh, I hope she did. That would be pretty funny.” She studied me for a very brief moment, as though considering, and then said, “So uh, you’re out of the tower I see.”

            “Yep,” I said, playing for casual. That seemed to always be the best approach with matters regarding the prison. “There was a… breakthrough with Mads and Nikita. They’re talking right now, so I have some time to check on all of you.”

            “Breakthrough?”

            I leaned back, stifling a sigh as I gathered my thoughts. “A bit of an unexpected outcome, to say the least. Mads got it in ‘em to go try and kill Nikita. But Nikita managed to talk them out of it, just barely. Now she’s trying to explain everything.”

            “Wow,” Haley said appreciatively. “That _is_ unexpected. How is Mads going to escape now?”

            I furrowed my brow. “Technically, I think she still can. I mean, Nikita’s not real, like me. And you know how that confuses the prison rules. Though I’m a bit surprised to hear Nikita admit that she remembers everything.”

            “She does?”

            I nodded. “She said her memories can’t be wiped because she’s not real—but, I mean, my memories were wiped, so there’s obviously a contradiction there. I’ve got a theory about it, but it’s only an idea.”

            “Tell me,” she said.

            “I’m… not sure if I should yet,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “It’ll sound a little stupid if I’m wrong.”

            “Oh,” she said. There was a pause. “Tell me anyway.”

             “Nah,” I said, snickering. “Maybe later.”

            “But will you have time later? You’ll need to go back to the prison soon, right?”

            I shrugged. “Sure, but I’ve got some time to talk to you guys and go for a walk first. I need some air. Makes it easier to think.”

            She studied me from behind her glasses for another very quick moment before looking away. She seemed furtive. I was again reminded of how early in the morning it was and said, “Hey, how come you’re up?”

            She shrugged, movements a little stiff. “I was having trouble sleeping, I guess. I keep… worrying.”

            I leaned a little closer, then worried it was a bit too leering and leaned back. “About what?”

            “Well—the prison, of course,” she glanced at me sideways. “And you. ‘Cause I know what you’re doing is—a good thing, but… you’re staying up all night and—I mean, the two of us have gotten a bit closer I guess, but you haven’t done much talking since all this started. You’re always in that room.”

            I was quiet for a moment, being careful with my word choice. “I know it’s probably a little… rough to watch, but this is all going to be worth it in the end. I don’t mind losing some sleep if it means saving lives.”

            “Me neither, but…” she hesitated. “It was hard, losing AJ and Jacob like that. I don’t want you to—I mean, that’s going to affect you. You’re doing the best you can, and I don’t want you to be beating yourself up over things like that.”

            I sighed. “Yeah, that was… Yeah. But, again, it’s worth it. It’s worth some turmoil if we can save even one person, and we already managed that. And anyway, it’s not like I’m real or anything. It doesn’t matter if I take a few hits.”

            She smiled, but the look she gave me was still furtive. “That excuse can only get you so far.”

            My expression softened. “I know. Hey, I’m gonna go check up on some of the others, alright? Try not to worry so much.”

            “Okay,” she said, watching me go.

            I took a breath when I stepped out into the corridor, trying to gather my thoughts. My hands found my face and rubbed it to the bone—a new habit. This was all getting a little complicated. A summary, even a mental one, was certainly in order.

            We’d been here, at the mansion on the hill overlooking the campsite, for about a week and a half now. This mansion had been the building we’d seen in the distance when we set out in the rowboat. At first we hadn’t expected much of it, but further investigation revealed that this place had been where Junko and Tristan were staying during the war. Eager for leads about where the rest of our friends had been imprisoned, we decided to stay here for a while so we could sift through all the files in the catacombs.

            This proved to be the right decision, because the files soon uncovered the unpleasant truth: just as Junko had said, our friends had been imprisoned. But it wasn’t _just_ a prison—it was an entirely separate universe.

            This is a bit of an overstatement, admittedly. They’re not in an entirely separate world—their reality is confined only to the fake Kibougamine campus and the prison beneath it. But they’re certainly not in the real world, and that of course is where the problem lies. We needed to get them back home.

            Exploration of the mansion revealed technology not of this world—glowing machines for simulations that looked to be right out of the world of science fiction. Because they were, of course. Junko had brought them with her from the Dangan Ronpa universe: Future Foundation technology; machinery meant to run the fictional New World Program. But in the real world, it wasn’t fictional anymore. In the real world, it worked. Junko had modified the program to trap instead of enlighten, and thus we had fifteen students imprisoned in a pocket dimension.

            But the rabbit hole, naturally, went deeper. Junko could never make anything simple. Because, as we soon discovered, about half of the students in this prison were never alive to begin with. They had died during the war. They weren’t there to be trapped like the others—they were there as a safeguard.

            Here’s how it works: each of the living students in the prison is paired off with a dead student. This dead student is called their tulpa; the living student had some sort of important relationship with their tulpa when they were both alive. Perhaps the living student feels responsible for the tulpa’s death, like Jacob or Zach or Bree—or perhaps the student feels betrayed by their tulpa, as in AJ’s case. No matter the reason, the living student is invariably intertwined with the tulpa and their untimely demise.

            Junko didn’t want anyone escaping this simulation or figuring out what was going on while she was busy with the Campsite of Mutual Killing. So the tulpas were there to keep them trapped. The living students are literally incapable of leaving unless their tulpa is dead. For extra measure, if a student _did_ succeed in killing their tulpa, they would suddenly find all of their stolen memories returning to them. In an instant, they would be overwhelmed by the despair of knowing that they’d just killed their friend… again.

            Upon discovering all of this information, my path forward seemed pretty clear. I had all the simulation technology with me in the mansion; all I had to do was fire it up under my control and then run a mock Prison of Mutual Killing in order to orchestrate every murder and free all of the students. But when I began to monitor the prison, I was mollified to discover that someone already had the exact same idea. There was already a mastermind in the prison, controlling Monobear and ordering the students to kill. And on top of that, Caehl had shown up out of nowhere as an unexpected sixteenth student.

            I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this, and I’m still not. The sudden appearance of Caehl threw off the numbers, and I had few logical answers as to who this mastermind could be. For a while, I just watched—but then it occurred to me that this mastermind would be taking the students once they successfully killed their tulpas, and I couldn’t let that happen. If they left the prison, I wouldn’t be able to monitor them anymore. So I decided to intervene.

            I set up my own simulation from within the simulation (which is a goddamn stupid phrase to read, I know) and used it to show Mads the wartime stories of their friends. I figured if I had someone on the inside, I could use that to gain some ground. I chose Mads because their tulpa, like me, wasn’t real—I figured a sketchy situation like that one deserved the most monitoring.

            When it was time for Bree to leave, I intercepted and stole her from the mastermind’s clutches. That was one student safe. One down, seven to go.

            But then two of them died.

            …Like Haley had said, she didn’t want me to blame myself, but… it was hard not to. I had told Mads what to do, and Mads had failed under my instruction. It was my responsibility to ensure everyone’s safety, and I had failed to adequately provide this. It made my head throb—I rubbed at my eyes, trying to stay grounded.

            I couldn’t just stand here in candlelight and think about this shit. I needed to keep everything in order, sure, but if I took too long then it would just begin to overwhelm me. I could choose to be consumed by it, or I could try to do better. And I _would_ do better. For the other five.

            I looked around the hall again, eager to resume my rounds, but was surprised to see Buck’s door slowly creak open as he stepped out into the hall. I watched as he looked around, standing up a bit on his soles in order to avoid making noise, eyes scanning the immediate area. I was to his sharp left so it took him a moment to notice me: when he did his expression shifted guiltily, shoulders slumping.

            “Hey,” he murmured, voice low so as to avoid disturbing anyone in the nearby rooms. “You’re out.”

            “Yeah,” I said, sauntering closer as my hands drifted pocket-wards. “So are you.”

            “How’s, uh,” his eyes drifted around, gleaming in the low light. “How’s Nikita?”

            “Good, it seems,” I said. “She’s made good progress with Mads.”

            “Huh,” he grunted. “Have they… seen the simulation yet?”

            “No,” I said.

            “If they ask, are you… are you gonna show ‘em?”

            I studied him carefully. “Yes.”

            We were quiet for a single raw moment. “I don’t want you to,” he said.

            “I have to,” I said. “Mads deserves to know. And anyway… you did the best you could at the time. You thought you were doing what was right. They won’t hold that against you.”

            “Why wouldn’t they?” he growled. “They don’t even remember me!”

            “You don’t remember them, either,” I reminded him, raising an eyebrow.

            He tensed and then loosed up again, sighing reflexively. “Sorry, I’m not tryin’ to get all fuckin’ pissed, I just… all this shit with Nikita coming back, and then finding out that I used to be friends with this Mads kid… I don’t even feel like myself anymore.”

            The eyebrow worked its way up higher. “That sounds like a lot bigger of a problem than _just_ Mads and Nikita.”

            “Yeah,” his expression twisted up. “I know.”

            “Go on and tell me, then.”

            “There’s nothing _to_ tell,” he muttered. “After all the shit with the campsite blew over, I got to thinking and I just feel… like shit I guess. I don’t know, like…”

            “Like the whole ‘moody’ approach turned out even more facetious than you’d planned?” I tried.

            He huffed; about as close to a laugh as I could hope from him. “Yeah, sure, why not. But more than that, too. Like a whole fuckin’ lot of me has just been an act. Like I was born in the wrong skin.”

            “A recluse instead of a marine biologist,” I nodded, expression bitter.

            “Jesus, how the fuck much has Tristan been telling you?” he grumbled. “That kid’s got a hell of a mouth on him.”

            “I get around,” I said with a small grin.

            “Huh.” Buck was quiet for a moment. “More than just my title, though. More than just Nikita or Mads or my personality or whatever. Bigger than that. I…” He seemed to be on the precipice of something, but he backed away before I could see him jump. “I don’t know. I need to think about it more.”

            “Okay,” I said. “Get back to me on that one, will you?”

            “I’ll consider it,” he grumbled, waving me away.

            On my way out I checked Neil’s room again only to find that it was empty—as I’d suspected. Knowing where to go next, I took the stairs down to the first floor, crossing the main hall towards the patio. Sure enough, I found Neil outside in the dark of early morning, in the midst of a series of push-ups. He did this every day.

            Not wanting to interrupt his set, I stepped out onto the patio and leaned on the side of the building, waiting for him to finish. He counted quietly under his breath, sparing only the barest of movements to nod at my appearance. It took him a few minutes before he lifted himself to his feet with a heavy sigh.

            “Hey,” he said breathily. “You’re not watching the prison?”

            “I found a good moment to take a break,” I said, watching as he stretched.

            He huffed. “So I take it that things are going well?”

            “Better than they were before, at least,” I said, knitting my eyebrows as Jacob and AJ once again flicked through my thoughts.

            Neil knew exactly what I was hinting at, his expression sobering. “Well, you know… It’s… I mean, it’s…”

            He trailed off, unable to find a good way to justify the loss. I wanted to pull him out of his sea of false starts; I sighed and said, “We’re doing our best, and so are they. It’s all anyone could ask for.”

            His hip found the side of the patio table and he leaned on it with a huff. “Yeah, I know. I just wish… more than anything, I just wish the tulpas weren’t a thing. People getting—getting _resurrected_ like that, for the sole purpose of just dying again… It’s horrible.”

            “I know,” I muttered. I wanted to add that it was miserable to watch, especially late at night; seeing that look of recognition color their faces as they died. I wanted to add that, but I didn’t.

            Most of the others joined me in the tower when it was time for a student to leave—we were especially frantic at successfully saving Bree, and especially silent as we watched Mads pound on the infirmary door. The thoughts quickly came back: _If I’d worded it differently, if I’d gone into the prison myself… was there anything I could have done to save them? Anything?_ I shook it away.

            Yes, when it was time for someone to leave the prison, we all watched it together. But the murders were less predictable, and significantly less hopeful. Those, as well as most everything else, I often watched alone.

            “Is there anything we could do to save them?” Neil asked. “The tulpas, I mean.”

            I looked up at him, pushing my thoughts to background noise. His question made my throat tighten. “Well, maybe,” I said carefully. “Junko’s files seem to suggest… _theoretically._ But it’s not… Nothing comes easy, especially when Junko’s the one who crafted it. There’s…”

            He stared at me, waiting.

            I sighed. “To put it simply, there’s no way for _anyone_ to leave this prison without killing someone else.”

            “So if the student died instead of the tulpa…?” His eyes widened.

            “No, no, not like that,” I said, making a face. “Think, instead of dying, you have to give away your entire life. To save someone else. To bring them back to life.” I paused, watching as his expression shifted through various states of confusion. “It’s not… It’s not really a viable option, is the point. Maybe, if… if the student agreed, but… even then… I really don’t want to even consider it.”

            “I’m not sure I followed that, but…” he gave me a long, hard look. “I trust you.”

            “Thanks, I appreciate it,” I said, lowering my shoulders.

            He nodded, then something seemed to occur to him: he put a finger up. “Speaking of Junko—one of the student profiles is missing.”

            “What?” I said.

            “See for yourself,” he said, nodding back towards the foyer. I quickly headed back inside, to the coffee table next to the front door. The dark black folder that held all the student profiles was sitting there; its usual resting place. I opened it to see that, sure enough, one of the pages had been ripped out. After a quick search—“It’s Dexter’s,” I told Neil.

            His expression was hard to read, but clearly concerned. His lip pulled up in a wince. “Do you think…?”

            “Yeah, I do,” I said. “Do you know where she is?”

            He shrugged. “Haven’t seen her since last night. She’s gotta be around here somewhere—you know the mansion better than I do.”

            “I’ll take a look around,” I said. “Thanks for telling me.”

            “No problem.”

            I did a quick search around the whole of the first floor and its various entrances, but didn’t find anyone or anything of note. Another check through all the second floor bedrooms revealed no poignant changes; but I was beginning to get a hunch as to where Bree might be. On the second floor was a great hall filled with bookcases and lounge areas—I was halfway across it when a groggy voice called from behind me, “Olivia?”

            I turned to see Calise standing there in her pajamas (button-up, white with a blue rose pattern), eyes half-closed. “What are you doing?” she asked.

            “Aw shit, did I wake you up?” I said as I walked back to her. “I’m just looking for Bree. Don’t let me keep you.”

            “Oh, it’s okay,” she said, blinking a few bleary times. “It’s almost seven, isn’t it? I should probably get up anyway. I’m always getting up late.”

            I stifled a laugh. “Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing to get up _for._ ”

            “The prison,” she pointed out dully. “We need to get up for that.”

            “More like we need to _stay awake_ for that,” I muttered. “And believe me, I’ve got that job covered.”

            “If you say so,” she said, then smiled lightly. “Olivia- _chan_ …”

            “Hey,” I snapped my fingers. “Don’t do that. Your Junko impression is a little _too_ spot-on for my tastes.”

            “I thought you said it was cool,” she grumbled as I put my arm over her shoulder and guided her out of the room.

            “Oh, don’t get me wrong, it totally is,” I said. “But if I start praising you for it, people are going to think I’m a _real_ masochist instead of just a _coincidental_ one. It’s bad enough that I’m already dying all the time.”

            “Not all the time,” she corrected. “You haven’t died since… Well, nevermind.”

            “Since Max,” I said. “It’s not a bad word, you can say it.”

            “It’s _sad_ ,” she mumbled. “And I don’t want to make you sad. Things are already sad enough with the prison.”

            I squeezed her shoulder to note the sentiment. “We’re too busy to be sad. I’ve got too much shit to get done.”

            She giggled, falling silent for a few ticks. “What about after?”

            “After the prison?”

            “Yeah. After you save everyone else.”

            I spent a moment considering possible answers before settling on, “Then you can sit on your bed and cry your eyes out, if you like.”

            “ _Ugh_ ,” she leaned all her weight against me, trying to stop us from moving forward. “Why do you have to make all these jokes all the time! What happened to serious and somber Olivia? Bring her back!” 

            I stepped behind her and scooped her up, hefting her in my arms bridle-style. Grinning wildly in her face, I answered, “She died with Max.”

            Calise writhed as I carried her to her bedroom, the door cracked open. “That one wasn’t funny,” she murmured.

            “I know,” I said before putting her down.

            She stared at me in the doorway, the two of us quiet as the air chilled with the unspoken. I wondered how she might respond—her weapon of choice turned out to be a change of subject. “What are you going to do next?” she said. “In the prison.”

            I shrugged as my hands found my pockets. “I suppose I’ll reveal myself to Mads.”

            “What?” she blinked, looking considerably less sleepy now. “Why?”

            “Nikita’s about to explain everything she knows to them,” I said. “I might as well do what I can to fill in the blanks. I didn’t do it earlier because I didn’t want to overwhelm Mads, but at this point there’s no reason for me not to. And anyway, if they’re going to be helping me from the inside then they might as well know the details.”

            “Huh,” she said, nodding lightly. “You’re right, I think. It sounds like a pretty good idea.”

            “I’m glad to hear you think so.”

            She gave me a small smile, then sighed as she glanced sideways. “I guess I’ll stop wasting your time now,” she said.

            “You weren’t,” I said with a wink, then headed back into the great hall.

            At the end of the hall was a series of four floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the landscape outside. In the middle of them was a door leading to one of the second floor balconies; due to the windows, as I approached I could easily see that Bree was out there. Through the glass I could see her leaning on the balcony’s guard rail, her back to me and her posture decidedly guarded.

            I paused before the door, taking another breath that I didn’t need; then I gently pulled it open and stepped out into the cold morning air. The balcony was made of sturdy gray cobblestone, most of which was covered in several inches of untouched snow. Little wind stirred the air, and it wasn’t snowing at the moment, but the cold was nevertheless immediately noticeable. We had put two lawn chairs and a small table out on the balcony, but Bree wasn’t using any of this. She had cleared away a section of snow on the guardrail in order to rest her elbows on it.

            I lingered for a moment as I took all of this in, feeling no immediate need to say anything. I wondered if I should go for casual or serious; eventually I settled on a sort of middle ground and said in a light tone, “You know, it might help if you talked to someone about all this.”

            She let out a heavier sigh than I’d anticipated. My eyebrows knit together as she shifted her position; her hand flicked up—in it was a piece of paper, folded. “If you want Dexter’s profile back, it’s right here. You can take it.”

            “Nah, I’m good,” I said.

            The paper hovered in the air for a moment, unmoving, and then she lowered it again. “Okay. Do you think you could leave me alone, then?”

            “Bree…” I considered walking closer, but thought better of it. “You can’t keep all this shit to yourself. It’s just going to make it worse.”

            “What am I supposed to do instead?” she responded, quicker than I’d expected.

            “Talk to someone,” I said. “Talk to _me_. I know you’re worried about Dexter, but we can try to make it better.”

            She was quiet for a long, long moment. When she finally spoke, she did so slowly. “I keep thinking… Why would he have picked Jack over me? To kill? Why not kill me and make it easier for himself? If I was dead, he wouldn’t have to worry anymore. He wouldn’t have to live the rest of his life knowing that I was out there somewhere…” She trailed off.

            “You mean like what you’re doing right now,” I said softly.

            “Huh?”

            “Knowing that he’s out there somewhere,” I said. “Or could be. And wondering.”

            Bree turned around to face me, the snow crackling under her shoes. Her eyes seemed sunken in from exhaustion, but not the usual kind of tired—the special sleepless cocktail that came from sadness alone. I’d watched the color drain from her from the first day in the prison, to Jack’s death, to when I pulled her out of the simulation, to now. There was a grayness to her, like a grainy photo in a newspaper tabloid.

            “Do _you_ think he’s still out there?” she said, voice low and cracking. “Do you think—do you think he lived?”

            My eyebrows pulled together again. I knew from the simulations that some of Junko’s “elite” army—Momo, Jake, Halley, Dexter, and Jillian—were dead. But not all of them. The simulations didn’t contain any information about Dexter’s fate, for starters, and Junko’s files weren’t of much use either. This left me in the dark, at least on the subject of Dexter. “Listen,” I told Bree. “If he’s alive, we’re going to find him. If he’s not, we’re still going to find him. We’re going to get an answer no matter what.”

            Her face twisted up and she looked away again. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

            “What?”

            She took a deep, shaky breath. “Olivia, I… really appreciate everything you’ve done. Saving me from the prison, making sure I was safe and happy here. But killing Jack… you know that brought my memories back. And… And a lot of it is still hazy, but now I remember Dexter for real. I remember… all the times when—before Junko got to him, when we were together. When we were _happy_ and the idea of Junko ruining that was just a _joke_ —it… There’s a hole now. A hole because he’s gone. And now that I’ve remembered, I can’t make that hole go away.”

            “But if we find him again,” I said. “Things can go back to the way they used to be. It will get better.”

            “But if we find out that he’s _dead_ …” She gave me a low, dark look. “Then I have to live with that. I have to live with it forever. No, it’s better not to know. If we don’t pursue it, then we’ll always know it’s at least possible for him to be alive. It—it’s better that way.”

            “Bree…”

            She strode towards the edge of the balcony again, thrusting her hand out over the railing. In her grip dangled Dexter’s folded-up student profile. “I—I can’t do it unless you tell me, Olivia. Tell me to stop looking for him. Tell me to forget again.”

            “Bree.” Now I walked closer.

            Her hand shook. “Pl… Please, please let me forget.”

            “Bree, can I tell you something?”

            “Just… Just tell me to stop… I know I’m not getting enough sleep but it’s because—I can’t stop thinking about him, out there, alone—”

            “It’s important,” I said, leaning on the railing next to her, forcing myself into her line of sight. “Will you let me tell you?”

            “What?”

            “I wanted to say,” I said. “That you can drop it if you want to. Do you know what will happen? You’ll drop it and it’ll get buried in the snow and you’ll go back to your room and think to yourself that you’ve finally ended it. But then I’ll go downstairs and dig through the snow until I find it again. And I won’t stop looking. I won’t stop looking until I find him.”

            She stared at me with wide eyes.

            “Because, Bree,” I continued. “If you really don’t want to look for him anymore, I don’t need to tell you to stop. It’s the other way around. _You_ need to tell _me_ to stop.”

            She winced, her gaze locked with mine; despite everything, she didn’t have what it took to look away.

            “And the truth is,” I murmured. “Even if we both told each other to stop—even if we both resolved to never search for Dexter again—because we care so much, because we know it’s the right thing to do…” I reached up and took the corner of the paper, pulling her hand down from the edge. “We would both keep looking for him anyway.”

            She was absolutely still for a moment, staring at me; and then she fell forward, wrapping her arms around me as she cried. Between sobs, she managed, “I just wish—that I could—change things—if it could just—be _different_ —”

            “I know,” I mumbled, hugging her. “Me too.”

            “But what-what-what do I do if he’s dead? What happens then?”

            “Carry on in his name?” I suggested. “Transform the world into a place worthy of him? Whatever you like, really. Whatever you feel is right.”

            “And…” her voice lowered. “If he’s alive?”

            I squeezed her shoulder. “Same answer.”

            She held back another sob and then squeezed me back, arms wrapped tight. We were both quiet, then, immobile against the weight of the unknown. I wondered if we would find Dexter. I decided not _if_ , but _when_. I wondered when we would find Dexter. I hoped, for Bree’s sake, that it would be soon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            A short while later, I took a bit of food from the kitchen and then slipped out the mansion’s front door. Back into the cold. My trench coat was more than warm, however, and I had no qualms about the temperature as I stepped into the snow. The world had been doused in white by all the downpours, and more was sure to come. The forest that surrounded the mansion was covered in a scattering of snow, evergreens drained of their namesake by fog and ice; alligator junipers looking dead in the cold. Still, the smell of them couldn’t be covered—I breathed in pine needles and condensation as I walked.

            As far as we could determine, we were somewhere in December. With no connection to the rest of the world and little in terms of a calendar, we couldn’t be certain—but Junko had left enough evidence to at least make an educated guess with. Despite instinctive caution, I couldn’t help but be confident in our accuracy.

            I kept a fairly brisk pace. The bend of the trees left no discernible path, but my destination was a pretty noteworthy landmark and thus required little in terms of guidance. Plus, I’d been here before.

            After a handful of minutes, the trees broke and I found myself standing several feet away from the lip of the cliff side. I slowed my pace, walking out to the edge and looking down. Beneath me, the lake gleamed in a shining display of water and frost. Beyond it, the rest of the campsite was visible, the buildings demure as they huddled together in the snow. It was all ringed in by the electric fence—electric no more, of course.

            As I studied it, I was keenly aware of the lake’s presence and weight: beneath it, somewhere, lay what little remained of our friends after the pyre. I wondered if they would lay there forever, until ash became sediment and later, rock—or if eternity had something else in store for them. Either way… Either way time went on, I supposed.

            I then glanced to the side, towards my reason for being here. About a foot away from the cliff’s edge was a humble little makeshift grave that I’d crafted from the available sticks and twigs in the forest. Initially, the traditional cross look hadn’t satisfied me; a cross could mean anything. It wasn’t personal. Struck by a sense of symbolism, I’d found a disk of bark in the forest and carved out its center in order to craft an Ankh. A grave marked by an Ankh. Exactly my kind of homage to the dead.

            Of course, nothing was buried under it—not in the usual sense, at least. The lake was underneath it, as well as the rest of the campsite, however; so perhaps, in that sense, something _was_ buried. With the side of my boot, I kicked a section of snow off the cliff side and then took a seat. The Ankh sat stonily at my side.

            I let out a long breath.

            “You know, it’s amazing no one else has found you yet,” I told the gravestone. “It’s not like I’ve made any effort to hide this place—I mean, this cliff side was all sorts of prominent when we first saw it from the lake. I was certain that I wouldn’t be the only person to venture up here. Maybe someone has, but they won’t say anything. I suppose it’s no different from my perspective.”

            My chin came to rest in my hand as I glanced down at the grave. This wasn’t much of a conversation topic—but I was only getting warmed up.

            “AJ and Jacob died.” Might as well get the difficult part out of the way first. “It’s like… It’s like when Zach lost his eye. I mean, two deaths is far worse than the loss of an eye but—damn, he lost his _eye._ Hell.” I paused to rub at my face. “My point is that it’s the same feeling of helplessness. That I should have been able to stop it somehow, but… I didn’t.

            “Like with Enoch and Gigi. There had to have been something I could have done to stop it, right? But I didn’t. Or Caehl. If only I’d revealed myself, but… I didn’t.”

            I was quiet for a long moment. No one waiting on me, so no need to rush myself.

            “Maybe they all could have lived,” I said finally. “I must have woken up in the catacombs around the same time as Ryan’s trial, right? Maybe if I’d figured it out sooner, and rushed to the courtroom… but I didn’t know where it was, did I? Still. Maybe. Maybe I could have saved them. More of them, at the very least. No one deserved to die.”

            I frowned at my own word choice. “I mean, _obviously._ Obviously no one deserved to die. You’re all just people, just innocent. It’s because of Junko and I that any of you ever got roped into this business in the first place. We’d all be much better off if I’d just stayed in the Dangan Ronpa universe, if I’d just let myself go crazy from despair…” I sighed. “But I couldn’t. Temptation, and all that.”

            I paused, studying the thing. One of the coils of wire connecting the loop to the cross had come loose; I wanted to fix it, but I wouldn’t have the time. Ah well. Imperfections gave it character, right? And anyway, someone was bound to come across it one of these days. They could make it better, if the need arose. It would be alright.

            “Anyway, my point: I lost Jacob and AJ,” I continued at length. “But I’m not going to lose anyone else. I can save them. I can make it better. I know what to do from here on out. The tulpas are… up for debate of course, but… maybe.” I looked down towards the water, smiling bitterly. “I’ll save one of them, at least. Right? It’s all part of the plan.”

            My eyes flicked back to the Ankh. “Man, if you were here—if you knew what was going on—you’d be so pissed, wouldn’t you? Be doing whatever you could to talk me out of it. Probably put _yourself_ into the simulation to put an end to all the chaos.” I swallowed, quiet for a moment. “It’s funny that I know things like that now, and can say it with confidence. When I couldn’t before. It’s funny how I know you now, when I don’t need to.”

            I got to my feet, turning away from the cliff side and back in the direction of the mansion. Near the tree line I paused, glancing back. It was beginning to snow again. White flurries drifted in slow circles around the cliff, the Ankh a warm wooden stain on a white landscape. “You know, Max,” I said. “If you were still alive—we would have stopped dating. You know that, right? I’m not the person that you met before the war. I don’t even know who she is. I’m—I’m not even sure if _she_ did. And it’s not just me, either—I think we both changed, in a lot of ways. And I _do_ love you, and I always will—but in a different way now. The story is different now. And that’s okay. It’s not a bad thing. I hope you understand that.”

            I headed back towards the mansion without another word.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            I walked back slowly, with my hands in my pockets, watching the clouds my breath would make when I huffed out. It was wholly unnecessary for me to even bother with it at all, but I liked to watch the clouds. I suppose that’s one of the nice things about winter; the funny things that the air does. Science was a fascinating thing. Shame I didn’t have the time to learn more of it.

            I immediately stopped breathing when I saw the figure in front of the mansion, however.

            In fact I stopped moving entirely. I stood absolutely still, reading the situation as quickly as I could. The figure was peering through one of the windows, hands cupped around their eyes as they looked through the glass. They were around my height, features obscured by a long black cloak and hood. I was reminded of my own cloak that I’d worn during the masquerade (which now felt like an eternity ago). I also noted the presence of a sword hilt poking through the top of the cloak, the pattern eerily similar to Doran’s Blade.

            After a moment the figure straightened up, lowering their hands. I was uncertain of what to do—Doran’s Blade was, in fact, clipped to my belt loop, but I saw no valid reason to aggress a stranger without purpose. Still, the weapon was there. I was well-aware of its weight against my hip. Figuring the best approach was a middle ground, I flipped up the side of my trench coat and rested my hand on the blade’s hilt. Now the figure would know I was armed.

            Then I said, “Hello.”

            She spun around quickly, and in my head a lot of things seemed to fall together at once. Her face would have been immediately recognizable even if I _hadn’t_ spent several nights studying her student profile in consternation; she was dressed in all black, much like my simulation outfit. She had on leather boots; a shirt with a faded image of a skull on it. Gloves clung loosely to her forearms. An AK-47, of all things, was strapped around her shoulder: she flicked the muzzle up at me as she spun around, only to instantly lower it in surprise. She was lithe and wiry and her dark eyes glittered. Her hair was hidden behind her hood, but I didn’t need to see it to know it was her.

            “Holy shit,” she spluttered. “Jesus. Olivia, is that you? _Jesus_ , you scared the shit out of me.”

            I stared. I was stunned into silence.

            She laughed a little abruptly. “Fuckin’ hell, I thought I was in trouble for sure. You never know what sort of shit you’ll find in the woods. I mean—not like I’ve actually seen anyone in _months_ , but that doesn’t mean this place ain’t fuckin’ spooky as all hell. Runnin’ around in the goddamn forest at night… Why are you looking at me like that? What in fuck’s name are you doing out here, anyway? Where’s Junko? What—what—why are you walking towards me like that? What the fuck? You’re freaking me the hell out, Olivia.”

            I stopped about a foot in front of her and pulled something out of my trench coat pocket. I didn’t know what else to do. My hands weren’t shaking, but it felt like they were. I said, “I couldn’t get all the blood out. I kept washing, but—I didn’t start the day-of, so most of it had sunken into the fabric already. I hope that’s okay.”

            She took it from me in both hands, stunned. A spatter-line of red decorated the worn front of her hat, the pink of the cat ears dulled by age. She swallowed. “That’s—Caehl’s, isn’t it? The blood.”

            I nodded, slowly.

            Without another word, Gam—the real Gam, not just Caehl in disguise; the real, _actual_ Gam—pushed the hood off her head and put the hat on. Her hood had two small slits in it; when she put it on over the hat, the cat ears poked through. Once this was done we stared at each other, her dark eyes wavering slightly as she studied me, expression terse.

            “You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do,” Gam said.

            “You’re one to talk,” I muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knowing that Dexter could be out there somewhere... it fills Bree with DETERMINATION.
> 
> Chapter title for Chapter Four, "There Is Always A Way", will probably be the trickiest source to locate out of the group. I'm interested to see if anyone produces the answer.
> 
> From a writing standpoint, this one was a little tricky. There was no real way to do it without making my character look a little OP. But in the end I think that will work in the story's favor. More on that when the time comes, maybe.


	21. 4.2 "A Different Story"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back and here to party.

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<MADS>

}

(Ab)normal Days

            We spent several hours sitting on the roof of the building and talking. Simulations, tulpas, imaginary friends… it was all a little hard to swallow. I had no reason not to believe her, however. That didn’t stop it from being a lot to take in, though. I needed time to think. Nikita told me she had something else to show me, but it could wait until later today. We were naturally pretty late getting back to the prison, but it was just as well because we arrived to discover that Monobear hadn’t shown up since last night.

            “He’s just straight-up not here, as far as we can tell,” Aaron muttered to me once I was done rapidly questioning the crowd in the cafeteria. “We’ve tried calling for him and looking around and all that shit, but there’s nothing.”

            “So what, it just… left?” I said. “What now?”

            “I think it’s quite likely that he’s going to come back,” Kayla said, sounding surprisingly calm. “It’s just a matter of when.”

            “But what if he doesn’t?” Ash said. No one answered them, silenced by consternation. I glanced around to see Caehl sitting further in the cafeteria, away from everyone else. She had her head lowered and didn’t speak.

            Nikita touched my shoulder from where she leered behind me. “Perhaps the mastermind has… stepped away from the computer.”

            “AFK,” I grumbled back.

            Aaron overheard me. “AFK, AWOL, MIA, goddamn—I can’t think of another acronym—it doesn’t fucking matter what you call it. The point is that we’re alone.”

            “Do you have a plan, then?” I said, partially relieved that he hadn’t heard Nikita’s half of that exchange.

            He made a face. “No. But… I don’t know, maybe we should do something. The fucker’s not around to monitor us, so we could probably get away with _some_ sort of shit. I’m just throwing out the idea, here.”

            I glanced over at the others, uncertain. Maybe I should tell them what Nikita told me. Now was as good of a time as ever, right? I looked back at her. To my surprise, she lightly shook her head. She didn’t want me to say anything? But why? I hesitated, having half a mind to ignore her, but in the end I forced myself not to speak.

            “What happened to the escape plan?” Zach said, then quickly followed himself up. “I mean—that is… With Jacob gone, I… I imagine it didn’t happen, but… I figure it was worth mentioning anyway.”

            “It did happen, actually,” I said, swallowing my nerves. “He… couldn’t break the fence. It wouldn’t budge.” Of course I knew _why_ now, but I decided I would leave that out for the time being.

            “Ah,” Zach said, lowering his gaze. I could tell by his half-guilty expression that he knew why as well.

            “Maybe we can open up the service elevator downstairs,” Izzy suggested after a pause. “It likely won’t get us anywhere good, but knowing what’s down there would be of some use, at least.”

            “Worth a try,” Laura said with a shrug. “Some of our weapons could probably offer some decent leverage.”

            Aaron sighed. “Better than nothing. Let’s go.”

            Everyone filed out of the cafeteria doors, Nikita and I taking up the rear. I paused after the last student exited to turn around and face her. “What’s going on? You don’t want me to tell the others?”

            Her expression shifted behind her hair, eyes narrowing. “Madison, this isn’t that simple. If I could explain all of this out of existence, I would have done so on the first day. But half of the students out there…” Her eyes flicked up towards the doors. “Half of them are dead. They can’t be saved. And we can determine who they are, too. To tell them that, to tell them that half of them are doomed… Imagine how that would feel. It would lead to chaos.”

            I swallowed, considering her. “But you’re one of the tulpas, right? And you seem fine.”

            “I’m a different story,” she murmured.

            “What, because you’re not real?” I said. “If you’re in here when that timer reaches zero, you’re going to get deleted the same as anyone else. That’s what you told me, right?”

            “Yes,” she intoned. “But it is still different. I have had time to accept this. I knew from the beginning. It is not the same for the rest of them.”

            “So what, you’re just going to accept that they’re going to die?” I huffed. “You’re not going to try to change it? If all of us worked together, maybe we could—”

            “Could what?” she snapped, leaning in towards me, eyes narrowed. “Defy nature even further than we already have? Resurrect the _dead_? Bring them back? At what cost do you propose we do such a thing? Do we sacrifice the lives of their living friends? They had their chance, and they _failed._ They’re _dead_. Like me. Do you understand what that means? I shouldn’t even be here. I should be _long gone_ , years ago, before any of this even—”

            She stopped abruptly, shoulders lowering. Her expression cleared as she straightened up. “I apologize for snapping at you, Madison.”

            “It’s… fine,” I said, watching her carefully. I was quiet a moment longer. “Suppose we did find a way to bring them back. One that didn’t involve killing anyone else. Would you help me?”

            Her expression was pained, but only briefly. “I wouldn’t like it. The dead aren’t meant to be brought back. But… yes, I would help.”

            “Okay,” I said. “That’s all I need to hear.”

            She nodded once before following me out of the cafeteria doors.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            Breaking into the elevator turned out to be mostly futile. We all circled around the center of the main hall to inspect our charge—a large, square-shaped groove in the stone ground that betrayed the presence of an opening. Another groove sliced it in half laterally where the two pieces separated. This opening was disappointingly narrow, but some of our weapons were nevertheless capable of fitting. It didn’t do much good, though. No matter how much we fought with the thing, we couldn’t get it to pry open.

            Tired of watching the others struggle with it, I took a note from some of my peers and left the rest of them to their own devices. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. I figured maybe I could go talk with Nikita, but I was still pretty exhausted from our last go at it. I hadn’t gotten any sleep, after all. Maybe our talk should wait until tonight.

            I rounded one corridor only to come to a halt when I saw Laura sitting on the floor, knees hugged up to her hairline as she sat there with her head lowered. I hesitated, unsure of how to approach. Was she hurt? Upset? Maybe she’d prefer it if I didn’t get involved at all. But there’s no harm in trying, right? If she wanted me to leave, then I would.

            I carefully walked up and touched her shoulder. She raised her head to look at me, one hand rushing through her hair. “Are you okay?” I said.

            “Uh, yeah,” she said, taking a decidedly shaky breath. Her face was clear, and it didn’t look like she’d been crying. “Sorry, I just needed a minute. I’m a little, uh, spooked.”

            “Spooked?”

            “Yeah, just…” she swallowed. “Just freaked out from everything that’s going on. It’s hard to… keep it cool sometimes. You know? So I’m just feeling a little off.”

            Sensing that she didn’t mind my presence, I slid down to the floor next to her. “I get it. Does this happen often?” That immediately struck me as a stupid question. “I mean, going off on your own like this. Obviously we’re all a bit freaked out by this shit.”

            “Yeah,” she said. “Uh… to both. I get, well, panic attacks sometimes. Not all that often, just—I just needed a minute.” For a moment I thought she was done, but then her eyes narrowed and she kept speaking. “I actually have medication, normally. Not for anything serious, don’t worry, just—a bit of depression, is all. So I usually have meds. But there’s none of that here.”

            Not that surprising. A lot of people our age were on some sort of pill or another—but there frequently wasn’t reason to talk about it too much. I wondered if she was the only one out of the prisoners here. I doubted it. “I understand. No need to worry. Do you want to talk?”

            “Yes,” she said. “About something else, preferably.”

            “Okay.” My eyes searched the immediate landscape for a topic and found it to be predictably barren. Looking back towards her, I noted the label on her jacket: GEIS, in faded white print. “What’s up with the coat?” I said. “Looks military.”

            She glanced down at the label, then back up at me, looking more than a little pleased with my choice of topic. “It was my mother’s, back when she was serving. That’s… not her last name, it was her ex-husband’s—but anyway, my mom let me have the jacket after I found it in our closet a couple years ago.”

            “That’s pretty cool,” I said. “So your family has military history?”

            She nodded. “My brother’s serving right now. Or at least—I think he is, anyway. Hard to tell when you’re in prison. But he’s actually part of the reason I like this jacket so much. As a reminder of him, you know?”

            I nodded, trying to keep my expression neutral as I considered this information. There had been—or there was—a war going on out there. If he was in the military… did that increase or decrease his chances of survival? I wasn’t sure what to think. “So are you planning on serving?”

            She choked back a cough. “Ha, we don’t talk about that. I’m shooting more towards veterinarian.”

            “ _Cow_ veterinarian?” I said with a grin.

            Laura laughed, but she sounded serious when she said, “Maybe. Anyway, thanks for the talk Mads. That helped. I feel better now.”

            “Good,” I said, getting to my feet. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

            “Okay.”

            I turned on my heel and set off. I made a big circle around the outside of the cafeteria, then swung back around to the main hall. Surprisingly, no one had made any progress. The only people still trying to pry the elevator open were Izzy and Aaron. I might have watched them closer, but my attention was quickly grabbed by the sight of Ash and Zach talking in the far corner of the room. I watched them in silence, feeling inexplicably perturbed.

            After a small and seemingly peaceful exchange, Zach excused himself and walked back towards the cells. I saw his retreating figure reach up, hand touching his eyepatch. I frowned.

            No longer engaged in conversation, Ash turned and noticed me. “Hi, Mads,” they said, walking up.

            “Hey. What were you talking to Zach for?”

            Their expression shifted, hard to read. “Well… I guess there’s no harm in telling you. I was asking him about—you know, Malcolm. And if he was to blame.”

            “And of course he said he isn’t,” I responded, not missing a beat.

            “No, actually.” Ash lowered their voice. “He said he _was_. He told me he killed Malcolm.”

            I blinked a few times. “Wh—really? He told you that? Just because you asked?”

            They shrugged. “I had to press him a bit, but I guess it didn’t take too much effort. I suppose he must trust me.”

            I wasn’t sure what to say. Of course I’d known since the beginning, but that was only because I’d succeeded in solving the murder. Ash was definitely a trustworthy person, but this was… unexpected. “What else did he tell you?” I finally asked.

            “Some things about the way the prison works,” they said. “I think? He was sort of vague. He said that Malcolm was already dead, and that he _had_ to kill him, that it was sort of… predestined, or something…” They paused. “Mads, he told me that we’re _all_ in a situation like that. That half of us are dead, and the other half isn’t, and that we have to…” They trailed off, swallowing.

            Despite myself, I said, “Listen, Ash… I’m still figuring it all out myself, but… trust me when I say that Zach’s more or less telling the truth. But—you don’t need to worry, alright? I’m gonna take care of it. I have a plan. Sort of. I’m going to work on a plan.”

            Their gaze twisted. “You… You already knew?”

            “Well I…”

            “You did. Oh my god. Why didn’t you say anything?”

            I winced. “Yeah, alright, this looks really bad. But the whole situation is… _super_ complicated, Ash. To try and explain it to everyone would just be chaos. Seriously.”

            “Well…” they let out a furtive sigh. “The damage has already been done to me, hasn’t it? So you might as well explain everything.”

            I hesitated.

            “Please, Mads. I… I just want to help. I get that the escape plan really isn’t an option anymore, and no one had any luck trying to get downstairs, but… I have to help in any way I can. We have to work together here. If all of us stay split up, it’s just going to lead to disaster. I’m not confident about a lot of things, but I _am_ confident about that.”

            They were near shaking by the time they finished. If the “pushing” they’d given Zach was anywhere near that good, then it was no wonder he’d caved in. I let out a long breath. “Listen, Nikita and I are—”

            “ _Nikita too_?”

            “S…Sorry. Nikita and I are going to be talking over some things later tonight. If you’d like, I… I guess you could join us. And I’ll see what we can explain.”

            They studied me in silence for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine. Where?”

            “Uh… the cafeteria, I s’pose. I’ll tell Nikita to head over there after the lights go out.”

            They nodded. “Okay. And—Thank you, Mads.”

            I quickly nodded in response, a little taken aback. As I watched Ash walk away, I couldn’t help but be a little surprised by them. I’d gotten to know them fairly well over the course of our time in this prison, but I hadn’t realized how deep their determination was. They really wanted to do whatever they could to help. I wasn’t even sure if Ash was aware of their own mortality—of the threat of failure. They just wanted to help.

            I blinked, thoughtful. Had I been like that, at the start of all this? Was I _still_ like that? I couldn’t tell anymore.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            I lurked around the hall for some time after that, staring at the panels to the elevator. Aaron had left during my conversation with Ash, but Izzy was still there, trying to dig into the panels with nothing but her bare fingers. I figured she’d probably exhausted all other options at this point.

            I approached slowly, not wanting to agitate her further, and said, “Any luck?”

            “No,” she muttered. As I got closer, the pale prison lights illuminated more of her face and I saw that she didn’t look very agitated at all. In fact, she looked rather calm. “What’s strange is that there’s no give on these panels. They’re mechanical, so in theory they should yield to a bit of pressure. But they don’t. They don’t move at all. Like stone.”

            “Frustrating,” I said.

            “Not really,” she responded, sitting up. “Well, I ‘pose it’s a bit frustrating. But when you think about it, this _does_ tell us something. This prison isn’t operating under normal scientific law.”

            “What makes you so sure?”

            The look that she shot my way was nothing short of disappointed. “Come _on_ , just think about it. Empirical evidence, y’know? None of the appliances or devices have any plugs, yet they run perfectly. You yourself said that Jacob was completely incapable of cutting or even _damaging_ that fence. The library’s books are all empty! And now these panels don’t respond the way they should. Obviously there’s something _very_ wrong here, beyond what’s right in front of our faces.”

            Of course the answer was that it was a video game, but I wasn’t about to say that. The reception I’d gotten from Ash was quite different from the one Izzy was offering. “You said it’s not frustrating,” I said slowly. “But you seem pretty frustrated to me.”

            She hesitated, then said, “Yeah, but it’s nothing to do with the damn panels. To be blunt, it’s _you._ And everyone else. You’re just the available target at the moment.”

            “What’d I do, then?”

            “Nothing,” she grumbled. “That’s the _point._ No one’s done anything since our doors opened up four days ago. Any time we get close to making any progress, someone gets pissed off for no reason and derails the whole conversation. It’s infuriating.”

            I frowned at her. “I’m not gonna say you’re wrong, but… it’s not like you’ve done much yourself.”

            She sighed a little tartly. “Look, I don’t want to be an asshole, but I can tell when I’m in a no-win situation. And so far all anyone has shown me is all the different ways in which they can fuck up. I’m not about to throw my hat into that ring. I can manage on my own—at least until someone gives me a reason not to.”

            “That makes you no better than the rest of us then,” I muttered. “At least by your standard. If you’re so better than us, than you should be trying to help instead of actively trying to leave us in the dust.”

            “Leave you in the dust?” she echoed. “You say that as if I have an _option._ There’s no way out of here. Fuck whatever the fuckin’ bear says. Just take a look at the people who listened to him—AJ got shot in the head, Jacob went and offed himself, I’m certain that Bree is as good as dead… and the one who was smart enough to stick around is somewhere among us. I don’t know if Zach really did it, but Jack was onto something—we should have tied that fucker up. The only good idea anyone’s had here, and everyone immediately shot him down. And then Jack died a couple hours later! Go figure.”

            It’s worth noting that despite the aggression her words implied, she said all of this very calmly. The emotion that _did_ tinge her inflection was minimal, her tone relaxed; she spoke as if this was a casual conversation about the weather rather than an argument about our very lives. It seemed she talked this way all the time, but it had never left much of an impression on me until now. I made a face. “So… what? Are you telling me that your solution is to just give up? That you really think there’s no way for us to be saved?”

            “I mean…” she huffed. “All our options so far seem like duds to me. So unless something better comes up—or we can go and _find_ something better—then yeah, we’re probably fucked.”

            I was desperate to tell her the truth while simultaneously never wanting to open my mouth again. I had the power to explain to her that there was hope, but… what if she turned out to be one of the tulpas? Then she would technically be right, wouldn’t she? I’d just be confirming her suspicions rather than denying them, and in the one of the worst ways possible. I swallowed.

            I guess I’d been quiet for too long, because Izzy abruptly stood up. “It’s fine, though. Believe what you want to believe, and I’ll keep doing the same.” And then she turned and walked off.

            Part of me wanted to chase after her, but I didn’t know what to say if I did. So instead I just watched her walk off. I could see why she felt the way she did, but… It was preposterous, wasn’t it? Why would she be so intent on not working with the rest of us? A sudden voice behind me startled me out of my reverie. “Oh, did Izzy leave? I came back to see if she made any progress.”

            I turned around to see Aaron standing there, hands in his pockets and expression neutral. His eyes were slightly narrowed, the curve of his spine suggesting traces of exhaustion. “Yeah,” I said. “She wasn’t getting anywhere, from what I was told.”

            He sighed. “I figured as much. I really hoped we might be able to get somewhere with that idea. Man, this is _such_ bullshit.”

            “I know,” I said.

            He paused to rub at his face, hands moving slowly up to his forehead, down again across his eyes, and then up through his hair. He let out another sigh, longer this time. “Jesus, am I tired. I want to take advantage of this cold spell while Monobear is gone, but honestly I’m out of ideas. And I’m just _so_ fucking tired.”

            “How come?” I said, reminded of the itchiness behind my own eyelids.

            “I have no idea, honestly,” he said. “I’ve been sleeping—or at least trying to sleep—on most nights. But I wake up exhausted, as if I didn’t sleep at all. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

            That was a bit different from my problem, which was failing to sleep entirely. I frowned. “That sounds pretty shitty. Maybe you should try to take a nap or something?”

            “I’m thinking about it, yeah,” he said. “I just… don’t want to waste my time here. There’s not a lot of it left, you know? And with Monobear gone… fuck, I just want to get something _done_.”

            “Well, it’s alright,” I said slowly. “Sometimes things just don’t work out the way you want them to.”

            He studied me with a sort of wary expression for a brief moment. “Sure, but it seems to happen to me way too often to just be coincidence.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I don’t know, I just…” He paused, shooting me a hesitant glance. “I have trouble… you know, finishing things. Even if it’s something I _want_ to finish. Like, something I really genuinely give a shit about. Even then it’s this challenge to so much as _attempt_ working on it, let alone actually make progress. It’s like I’m… stuck. Like I can’t do any good.”

            “I imagine you’ve felt this way for a while?” I asked, watching him closely.

            “I guess so,” he said. “The memories just before the prison are fuzzy, obviously, but I vaguely remember a sort of _dread_ following me around. I figure it’s probably the same thing I’m feeling right now.”

            “Dread doesn’t sound the same as what you just described,” I noted.

            “Then I probably didn’t describe it very well,” he said, a little sharply. “Believe me, it’s dread alright. It feels like I’m going absolutely nowhere. Total pointlessness.”

            He said all of this very calmly and factually, but his expression and stature betrayed the strain of it. He didn’t actually _want_ to be having this conversation—by some stroke of luck (misfortune?) I’d managed to earn it. The look he gave me suggested that I should be careful with my response. “I’m not sure what I could offer in terms of advice,” I said. “At least if you want anything concrete. Just… keep working and hopefully it’ll pass.”

            “I don’t think it will, is the thing,” he said, sighing. “Look, I don’t even know why I’m dropping all of this shit on you, anyway. You don’t need this. We’re all gonna be fucking obliterated or worse in a few dozen hours; one asshole’s problems are hardly all that important.”

            “I disagree,” I started, but he didn’t let me get any further.

            “Seriously, it’s fine. I’m gonna go ahead and try for that nap, though. Maybe _that_ will get me somewhere.” Just like that, he took off. I couldn’t help but think that I’d said something wrong.

            But, strangely enough, his behavior had seemed a little contradictory. I’d been certain that his decision to approach me about his feelings was deliberate, yet what he’d said at the end seemed to imply that it had happened unintentionally. Was he really _that_ unaware of his own behavior? Or was this part of some elaborate mind game that I had no grasp on? He didn’t strike me as either type—but then again, I didn’t really know him that well. Yet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            I didn’t have to wait much longer before the lights flicked out, signaling the beginning of Night Time. I waited a little while to ensure that I wouldn’t be interrupted, then quietly slipped out of my cell and headed for the cafeteria. As expected, Nikita was waiting there for me, sitting with one leg up on one of the benches. She immediately rose as I entered, hand touching the edge of the table where her staff lay.

            To my surprise, Zach was also here—he was sitting diagonally from Nikita, closer to the back of the table. He raised his head in a fidgety manner as I approached. “Uh, hey,” I said, trying to be careful.

            “Hi,” he said. There was a pause, then he laughed nervously. “Sorry if I, ah, surprised you. Ash told me about the… meeting here. Is it okay if I join?”

            I glanced at Nikita. Her expression offered no significant input. “Well… from my understanding, you already know everything, don’t you? Because of Malcolm.”

            He hesitated briefly. We’d yet to have an open conversation about this, so I supposed it was understandable. “Yes,” he said finally. “I mean—sort of. There’s some things I still don’t understand, but… Well, I-I want to know what you guys have figured out. Just in case there’s something new. And anyway, we, you know, need to have this conversation. If that’s okay with you.”

            I considered the patch over his eye; my knuckles ached as I recalled punching him. “Yeah, it is,” I said. “Nikita, um… didn’t have her memories wiped. It’s a bit of a confusing story, but that’s the most important part of it, anyway.” I neglected mentioning that I didn’t understand most of the story myself. “So she knows quite a lot about the prison, obviously. And she knows that she’s my tulpa.”

            Zach’s eye(s) widened. “She is? So are you going to…?” His gaze flicked between the two of us.

            “No,” I said. “We… worked it out. We’re sort of a special case because Nikita isn’t exactly… _real_. Again, it’s a long story, but… Because of her circumstances, I wasn’t forced into killing her. That isn’t exactly an option for everyone else, unfortunately.”

            His eye settled on Nikita, clearly looking at her in a new light. My skin prickled. I wished she would say something. “Not real?” Zach said.

            “Yeah,” I said. “She’s like an idea, is how I understand it. Like an idea with sentience. Obviously a, you know, computer program like this one isn’t made to process something that totally breaks the rules of reality like her, so… so I got the weird end of the tulpa stick, I guess.”

            “But why you?” he said.

            “I… don’t know. Nikita said I’ll probably… see it later.”

            “See it?”

            “In a…” I swallowed. “Simulation. There’s this sort of hooded figure who’s, I guess, hiding from the mastermind. She’s trying to undo their plans by showing me all of our pasts. Or the relevant bits, at least.”

            “So that’s how you knew about…”

            “About Pennsylvania, yeah.” We stared at each other in silence for a long moment. I noticed that his skin seemed to have gotten a bit paler—likely a side effect of stress. Or sickness, maybe? I wondered how good of a job Laura had done on his eye. Probably a better job than I would have, at any rate.

            “So, I…” He breathed out a little shakily. “I didn’t know anyone would find out, so it’s… I’d rather—I… I should have stayed with him.”

            “No,” I said. “You really shouldn’t have.”

            “But if I’d done as I said—” He stopped himself. “I… I suppose you’re right. That said… I know I don’t remember what happened that night, but I shouldn’t have killed him. In the prison, I mean. Even if it was my only way out, I… It was wrong.”

            “No,” Nikita said, startling me. “It was not. The rules of this prison are cruel, but inevitable. You were only doing what was asked of you in the first place.”

            “But…” he stared at her. “I don’t even _remember_ doing it.”

            “That is a separate issue entirely,” she said, stepping in his direction. She leered over him, height emphasized by her lack of personal space. “The sooner we follow through with this prison’s intentions, the sooner all of you can be free. Then there will be plenty of time for reflection.” She put a hand out, hesitated, and then laid it on his head. The gesture seemed to be trying for motherly, but what was ultimately produced was something unfamiliar and alien. He stared up at her, stunned. “So stop with all this… loathing.” Thus finished, she moved briskly away.

             Zach seemed to be struggling to formulate a response. Eventually he abandoned it and turned his attention back to me. “So you… All this time, you’ve been getting all your answers from this hooded figure?”

            “More or less,” I admitted. “It also helps that Nikita and I have succeeded in solving all the murders so far. And people tend to talk whenever I confront them.”

            “Okay,” he nodded, a strangely hopeful look beginning to cloud his features. “So do you know about this… person who’s been talking to all the murderers? Is that the hooded figure?”

            I frowned. “I’m… not sure. They _might_ be the same, but some instinct or another is telling me they’re not. It might be the same person as Monobear. I suppose that’s possible. I don’t really have any way of knowing, though.”

            “So you have no idea who that person is?”

            “Nope.”

            He looked a little crestfallen, but quickly wiped the expression away. “Well, that’s okay. We can try to figure it out together.”

            “Right,” I said, a little stiffly. At this point Nikita straightened up again.

            “I believe we should go ahead and proceed with what I wanted to show you, Madison,” she said. “The sooner we finish up, the less likely it is that someone will walk in on us.”

            “Well, okay,” I said. “But what about Ash?”

            She shot a frown towards the doorway. “It has been some time. Perhaps they decided not to come?”

            Zach’s eyebrows knit together. “They seemed to think they would be here when they talked to me.”

            There was a moment of silence as Nikita seemed to assess the situation, her gaze flicking about the room. “We will make this quick, then. We can look for them afterwards if necessary. I will fill them in on the details of this conversation if I need to.”

            Apparently satisfied with this conclusion, she headed to the back of the room where the bin with the old flashlights was sitting on the far table. After everything that had happened, I’d almost forgotten about its existence. She took the bin and carried it over to us, setting it down on a table nearby. Zach and I stared at it warily, as though it were a lit fuse.

            “Could you turn on your flashlight, Madison?” she asked. I gave her a stiff shrug and procured the object in question, turning it on. A heavy blue glow mixed with the red glare of the timer. 35.32.27, by the way.

            She removed hers from the pockets of her cargo pants and held it up. The light, once on, gleamed blue. “You yourself noted that our flashlights had the same color on the first day in the prison. There is a reason for this.”

            Flicking hers off and returning it to her pocket, she procured two more flashlights from the bin. “AJ and Ari, for example,” she said. When she turned them on, a dark green light emerged from both.

            Narrowing my eyes, I went around the table to the other side to grab from the bin. After a moment of digging I’d produced Jacob and Natasha’s—flicking them on offered a bright teal light. “Bree and Jack,” Nikita said from across me. I looked up to see her holding two flashlights, both of which shone pink.

            I dove into the bin for the last flashlight, Malcolm’s. I recalled the yellow glow I’d seen from his room only a few nights ago, and turned it on to be greeted with the same. I looked over at Zach. “Hey, is yours…?”

            He nodded and held it out. “It’s yellow too, yeah. So all the tulpas and students have been matched up by flashlight color?”

            Nikita nodded; a single sharp, quick motion. “The pairings are pre-destined. Each tulpa is subject to death by the hand of the person who played a part in their real-world death. The colors betray the relation.”

            “Well that’s useful,” I said, a little loudly. “Now we can figure out who’s matched up to who for the remaining pairs.”

            She nodded again, noticeably slower this time. “That is correct. We can also figure out which of the two is the tulpa.”

            I blinked in surprise. “How?”

            She leaned forward on the table, blue eyes glittering like our flashlights. “How long have you been imprisoned for? Before Monobear arrived.”

            “About a month.”

            “And myself? You asked, if you recall.”

            “Yeah. It was… just a day, wasn’t it?”

            “Yes. And Zach?”

            I looked over at him. “You said a month, didn’t you?” He nodded.

            “And Malcolm?” Nikita intoned.

            I shook my head, but Zach spoke up. “He… told me, early on. It was—a day.”

            “It goes as such for everyone,” Nikita said. “Bree, Jacob, and AJ for a month, Jack, Natasha, and Ari for a day. Those who have been here for a month are alive. Those who have been here for a day are already dead.”

            We were silent for a moment as this settled in. “But… why?” I said.

            “The tulpas did not exist until the mastermind began to run the prison,” she said. “As the program was made, a person’s tulpa is set to appear if, and only if, they manage to escape their cell. Otherwise, there is no tulpa at all. Our mastermind appears to have changed the settings somewhat, and force-started the existence of all the tulpas prior to beginning communication with us.”

            “To set up a mutual killing scenario, right?” Zach said, head tilted in thought. “That’s… pretty horrible of them.”

            “From this perspective, yes,” she said, turning to face him. “But it is also the only reason that escape has been possible so far. Recall, the tulpas were initially nothing more than a back-up in the event that someone escape their cell. And as far as any of us were aware, there was no way to escape our cells. So the only reason that either of you have even a small chance of leaving this program is because of our mastermind.”

            I remembered some of the things Monobear had said to me after Jack died. Had the creature been trying to tell me that it was on our side? I wasn’t sure what to think of this. “So… okay. We know how to figure everyone out, then. What should we do? Go around asking for colors and so forth and then put it all together?”

            “Sounds like as good an idea as any,” Zach said.

            “But then what?” I said, eyebrows curving together in thought. “What can we do at that point? Try to _force_ the murders, or something? That doesn’t sound particularly _fun_.”

            “I suggest caution,” Nikita said, giving me an oddly worried glance. “There is a reason I have not done anything with this information yet. While our remaining time is limited, we still have _some_ time to spare. We should take advantage of it while we can, and think our every action through carefully.”

            Zach nodded, his hand pressed to his lips. “After getting everyone’s information, maybe we should try—”

            He was interrupted as the cafeteria doors banged open, Ash rushing through them in a blur of motion. They careened to a halt a few feet away from me, buckled over with their hands on their knees as they struggled to draw breath. I ran over in surprise, hand finding their shoulder. “Jesus, are you okay?”

            “I…” they gasped, half-raising their head to look at me. “There’s—someone chasing me. They had a… a knife…”

            “You were attacked?” Nikita asked in a sharp voice, rounding the table to get closer.

            “They tried to stab me but I— _huff—_ ran,” Ash managed. “I was c-cornered near my cell and I had to hide… they almost saw me but they went past— _huff—_ because of how dark it was. So I took off after that and kept running, even though I c-could hear them behind me…” They lowered their head again, drawing in a long breath.

            Nikita looked towards the doors, and I did too. They were still swinging back and forth from Ash’s hurried entrance, but no one was approaching. I thought I saw a glimpse of bright color, like fire, near the other end of the hall—but it was gone before I could make anything of it. “You came straight here?” Nikita asked.

            Ash nodded rapidly. “I thought… because of the talk we had planned, you guys might know what to do.”

            I gave both Nikita and Zach a look. They seemed to know what I was getting at. Placing a hand on each of Ash’s shoulders, very gently, I said, “Yeah, we can help, Ash. I just need to ask you some questions. They’re gonna sound a little pointless, but you’ve gotta trust me here.”

            “Okay.”  
  
            “What color is your flashlight?”

            “Uh, the light? It’s orange.”

            “Okay. And before Monobear showed up, how many days were you here for?”

            They gave me a look of barely-restrained confusion, but nevertheless followed through. “…One.”

            The room seemed to get a little colder, somehow. Nikita let out a soft breath and Zach actually _whimpered._ “Okay,” I said, swallowing hard. “Can you tell us anything about your attacker? Flashlight color, voice, mannerisms? Did you see them?”

            By now Ash kept glancing towards the others, face flush with confusion and fear, but they didn’t stop answering me. “I couldn’t see them, it was too dark. But that’s good because I probably wouldn’t have gotten away otherwise. They… talked, but—only a little. Saying that they _had_ to kill me. Something about it destroying them. I wasn’t sure about the voice, I don’t know what everyone sounds like… Probably a girl? They uh, weren’t using their flashlight, so I don’t… I… What c-could that possibly have to do with any of this?”

            Nikita was staring holes into the side of my skull. I took a deep breath. “Let’s go get the others, okay? We can all group up and try to—”

            “No,” they snapped, with force. “I can’t—what if my attacker is there? I’m scared, I need to… please, I need to hide. Please, c-can you guys hide me?”

            My ears were ringing. What could I possibly do? Ash was a tulpa, right? We’d confirmed it, hadn’t we? Didn’t that mean they were destined to die? Was there anything I could do to change this? My stomach was churning, but I forced myself to focus. I had to make _something_ work. “Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Nikita, you go with Ash. Take them and hide somewhere. Zach, we’ll go wake up the others and try to find the attacker. See what’s going on here.”

            “And if we find them?” Zach asked.

            “We’ll… tie them up or something, I don’t know. Whatever the situation calls for.”

            “And if _they_ find _us_?” Nikita asked.

            I stared at her for a long, twisted moment. “I trust you,” I finally said. Zach’s eye had gone wide. I grabbed his arm and made for the doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title is the only one so far that no one could figure out the source of. It's Amnesia: Justine! "There Is Always A Way" is a quote from her first phonograph recording right when the game starts. I think this one, and why I chose it, speaks for itself--so I'll just let you take a look: 
> 
> "Bienvenue, you are now listening to the sound of my disembodied voice. It will serve you no purpose to look for me, for this is a voice from the past. I bid you welcome to my cabinet of perturbation. It is my study of the human psyche--specifically yours. A set of recordings have been prepared to chaperone you through the chambers ahead. There are a few parts to this study, and it is up to you--not only to pass, but figure out what elements are important. Please go on, move into the next chamber. Just remember: they can all be saved. There is always a way."


	22. TD Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tfw

_~~Please note: this chapter will not be in first person due to extraneous budget cuts. Thank you for your understanding. –Despair HQ~~ _

 

 __ ~~Laura knocked on Aaron’s cell door. It was time for the business to take place. For the moment that they had planned on for numerous months. It was time for great happenings to start happening, at their hands, forever and for always.~~

~~It was time for Team Despair, boys.~~

            Listen, I’m just gonna be straight with you guys. Everything that followed those lines of text was just total bullshit. Oh, hello by the way. It’s me, Zach! Honestly, all I’m here to do is cut straight to the point: Team Despair ruined our lives forever, and there was nothing we could do to fix it.

            I mean, they already had what was unequivocally the _worst_ ending in Re:kindle, but apparently that wasn’t good enough for them. They had to rub it in. They had to get the worst ending in Re_dux, too. And there was absolutely nothing anyone could have done to make it better. I’m really mad about it. What follows is an accurate, but not really in-depth, recount of exactly what happened to bring us to this state of ultimate despair.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            So, okay. Mads and I went outside to deal with all this business about Ash’s attacker, but we were greeted by Laura and Aaron who were standing right outside of the cafeteria doorway. They had been positioned _right_ in front of the doorways, so when we opened them we ended up hitting both of them in the face and they had to re-do the whole pose they were doing. Of course I immediately apologized.

            Aaron responded by saying, “Fuckin’ hell, you better be. You just ruined our entire dramatic entrance.”

            “Entrance?” I said.

            “Uh, yeah,” he muttered. “Our re-entrance into the canon as Team Despair. Obviously. God, I don’t even want to do the speech anymore, the whole thing is fucked now.”

            “ _You_ were the one who wanted to stand so close to the doors,” Laura muttered. “This is unbelievable.”

            I’d been too surprised to notice prior to now, but at this moment I saw that the two of them had changed their outfits. They were wearing white jumpsuits with black accessories, the letter D written in blood red on the chests of their outfits. Laura had a massive owl, almost twice her size, perched with a talon on each of her shoulders.

            I blinked at them, mystified. “Um, what’s going on?”

            “Look, okay,” Laura said. “I’ll be the first to admit it. Our alternate ending scheme got a little out of hand. We’re still the second-truest ending, second only to the real ending, but now there’s way more alternate endings than we’d anticipated. We’re starting to lose control of the situation.”

            “Yeah,” Aaron snapped. “I got killed by a _can of soup_ in one ending. A can of fucking soup! There isn’t even any soup-based symbolism in _any_ portion of the story. Why would anyone think that was a good idea?”

            Laura sighed. “Originally, the alternate endings were supposed to be based on relevant things that happened in the Facebook group or the story itself. It was something funny, but related, that was blown way out of proportion! This further weaved our tapestry of irony, and made the impact of the final Team Despair ending that much more valuable. But now the alternate endings aren’t about anything at all. It’s just random shit that Olivia or someone else came up with and thought was funny! There’s no meaning. No substance. Just a bunch of bullshit!”

            “Yeah!” Aaron said. “Can you _believe_ that we’re not even the last alternate ending anymore? There’s two more alternate endings after this one. That’s not the way it’s supposed to go! The entire system has been robbed and pillaged. It can’t even be considered ironic at this point.”

            “What are you _talking_ about?” I said, with horror.

            “Listen, Zach, this isn’t for you to get,” he responded with a long, drawn out sigh. “This is just for the readers, okay? They’ll understand. If they even _remember_ our first ending, that is. This is admittedly starting to get a little involved.”

            “True,” Laura murmured. “What exactly is our statement here, anyway? Are we trying to take an angle on authorship here, or…?”

            “Does it really matter?” he grumbled. “It’s not like some asshole is about to start analyzing this chapter for literary value. Or any of the chapters, for that matter.”

            “Okay, but…” Laura turned to face him. “Maybe we should be making a statement anyway? Like, for authorial purposes, you know? We’ve got a whole ending here, it might be a good idea to use it as a platform for a discussion like this. Because it’s surprisingly relevant, when you think about it! Like, what’s the _idea_ of an alternate ending, anyway? Have we ever really explored that? Does the author really have the right to construct multiple conclusions to their story, and then say that all of them are canon?”

            “I’m—” He paused, glanced at Mads and I, and then turned to face her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

            “I’m just saying, you know,” she said. “We’ve got the opportunity to explore a really interesting quandary here. About what powers an author has and what they should be allowed to do with them.”

            “Well, okay, but…” he rubbed at his chin. “What about _despair_?”

            “Hmm,” she frowned. “That’s a good point.”

            “Oh my god,” Mads said. “I’m leaving.”

            “No, hang on!” Laura yelled. “Look at my owl. Have you seen my owl? I think you need to really appreciate this guy before you just take off like it’s no big deal. Okay? This is a Eurasian Eagle Owl. He’s very important. We named him Junko.”

            “Yeah, he’s basically the fucking best,” Aaron said.

            Mads sighed, their eyes narrowed. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why do you have an owl?”

            “He’s our mascot, obviously,” Laura said. “We decided that Monobear couldn’t be our mascot, because that’s not original enough. So we got our own mascot.” Junko let out a hoot and ruffled his feathers a bit.

            “I’m sorry, but I’m still really confused,” I said.

            Aaron shrugged. “That’s fair. I’ll try to make this simple: in order to fix the problem with all the alternate endings, Laura and I forced Olivia to give us plot superpowers. So anything we say will come true. Like, for example: Laura and I have total control over the prison. There. Done. Now we have total control over the prison.”

            “Gosh,” I said appreciatively. “What are you going to do?”

            “I don’t know, we haven’t really worked it out yet,” he said.

            Laura looked over to him. “Hey, what if we combined all of the alternate endings into one canon?”

            “What do you mean?” he said.          

            “Like, make it canon that all of the alternate endings are part of the same universe,” she said. “That way the system can go back to being ironic, because we’ll have control over every single alternate ending.”

            “But—hang on. I died in one of those endings!”

            She shrugged. “Yeah. Kayla figured out that you were a member of Team Despair and decided to eliminate you.”

            “But that’s bullshit! I want to live in my own ending!”

            “Aaron, we have total control over the entire plot fabric of this reality,” she said. “Just make it canon that you brought yourself back to life.”

            “How?”

            “I dunno. However you like.”

            “Well… Okay. Fine, we’ll make all of that canon, then. All of the alternate endings are part of the same universe.”

            Everything was quiet for a moment. I swallowed, staring at them.

            “Hang on,” Laura said after a minute. “Wait—this means we’re in the same universe as Enrique con Queso. Shit, we need to change it back.”

            “Uh, shit,” Aaron said, looking panicked. “What should we change it to?”

            Laura’s eyes were wide. “I don’t know, but make it quick, because this thing is already over three pages and if we go on much longer Olivia is going to lose intere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like with the first TD Ending, I originally planned on taking this in a different direction. But somewhere along the road I just said "fuck it" and it turned into this meta pile of garbage. Hope you had fun! 
> 
> And yes, that's real canon. All the alternate endings take place in the same universe. Have fun trying to put that together.


	23. 4.3 "Cold Blood"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wiggles eyebrows

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<AARON>

}

(Ab)normal Days

            At some point I became aware of the humming in the prison. It was a distant sound, akin to an air conditioning unit or a refrigerator or something similar. At first it was just background noise, completely subconscious, but over time it became more pressing and I was inevitably roused awake. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times, groggy. I couldn’t see much in the dim glow of the Night Time setting, but I didn’t bother reaching for my flashlight—the thing was barely capable of doing its job. Most of the time, a red light just made it _harder_ to see. I love the color red as much as the next guy, but a red _flashlight_? Who the fuck thought that was a good idea?

            Eventually I forced myself to sit up, rubbing at my eyes. My nap seemed to have gone okay—though if the timer was any indication, I’d been out for a lot longer than the term “nap” indicated. And I still felt really tired. _And_ it was the middle of Night Time. But it was better than nothing, right? As long as I kept thinking that, it would probably become true at some point.

            My name is Aaron Feitelberg, and holy shit am I exhausted.

            That said, I didn’t think I would be getting back to sleep any time soon. At the very least I figured I should take a quick walk around the prison, on the off chance that something was going on. If I got lucky and _nothing_ was going on, then I could just come back and go to bed. No problem.

            I poked my head out into the dark of the hallway to find it dead silent. More or less exactly what I expected this late at night. Sighing, I shoved my hands in my pockets and headed for the cafeteria. It was empty, too. I was definitely getting the impression that everyone was asleep. Or at least, close to everyone. Still, I saw no reason not to finish my rounds. I’d been the guy who found Jack’s dead body one time, after all.

            As I proceeded down the hall, I caught sight of a shape flicking back and forth in front of the doors to the library. Narrowing my eyes in interest, I picked up the pace. As I got closer, I picked out Laura’s features. Her eyes were dark and actually seemed to _gleam_ when the minimal light in the prison caught them—she paced back and forth in front of the doors, the flash of steel visible in her hand. A knife? Oh shit.

            I slowed as I got within talking distance. “Hey… Laura? Is everything alright over there?” I figured a bit of sarcasm might ease the situation.

            Her gaze immediately flicked up to me, almost as though she hadn’t seen me before now. She studied me with quick, analytical eyes. I couldn’t figure out why, but I was getting the instinctive impression that something about her appearance was wrong. Her expression seemed… dazed. “What are you—” Her jaw clenched. “You know where they are, don’t you? That’s what you’re doing out here, playing dumb—” She suddenly advanced on me, the knife half-raised. “ _Tell me where they are._ ”

            “Holy shit,” I said, backing up out of instinct. “Slow the fuck down. What are you talking about?”

            I wasn’t even sure if she heard me. She said, “You’re gonna tell me where they are or I’ll kill _you_ too. Tell me, _now_.”

            My machete was strapped to my belt—I was suddenly uncomfortably aware of its presence. I put my hands up. “You need to _calm down,_ Laura. I have no idea what the fresh hell you’re talking about.”

            “Liar!” she spat, and then full-on charged.

            Before I could figure out the best way to react, one of the doors to the library burst open and Mads flung their head out. “Run!” they yelled at me. I wasn’t really sure how they expected me to do that with Laura _right in front of my path,_ but there was no time to get technical. I half-staggered, half-feinted to Laura’s side and then bolted for the door. Mads slammed it closed the moment I was past them.

            “Jesus,” I snapped. “What the fuck is wrong with her? What’s going on?”

            As I said this, my eyes swept over the flashlight-illuminated room. All of the other students were here; some sitting on the floor, others leaning on bookshelves, others antsy and on their feet. Well, almost everyone was here—as I looked over them again, I saw that Ash and Nikita were missing.

            “What do you think?” Izzy muttered. “She’s got us cornered in here. She’s screaming her head off looking for Ash.”

            “She cornered you guys with a _knife_?” I said.

            “I know, it’s stupid,” she said, tone unchanging. “Kayla and I have guns. We could just muscle our way through, for fuck’s sake, but _someone_ doesn’t think that’s _safe._ ”

            “I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” Mads said sharply, stepping away from the door.

            “We’re in a hostage situation,” Izzy retorted. “’Safe’ has already been thrown out the window.”

            “Careful, ‘nii-san,” Kayla said with a languid sigh. “We wouldn’t want to contradict ourselves here. It’s _hardly_ a hostage situation when the only threat is a knife, now is it?”

            “Yes, that definitely contributed towards the point I was trying to make,” she grumbled.

            Zach was standing off to the side of the door, somewhat behind Mads. He fidgeted with his eyepatch before speaking. “I’m with Mads, here. I don’t know what’s wrong with Laura, but I don’t want her to get hurt. We should try to solve this peacefully.”

            There was a moment of silence. Then Caehl abruptly spoke up from the back of the room, voice cracking. “She wants Ash,” she said. “Is she going to kill them?”

            “I doubt she wants to do anything good, considering the knife,” Izzy said, voice low.

            Zach hesitated for a moment before saying, “But if she was planning a murder, why would she reveal herself like this? We didn’t know who Ash’s attacker was until she cornered us. Why expose herself when she could kill in secret, like everyone else did?”

            Kayla narrowed her eyes, the purple glow of her flashlight sharply illuminating her features. “I certainly wouldn’t describe her as being ‘in her right mind’. I imagine she isn’t thinking very clearly. Her objective is Ash, and she doesn’t seem to care about what all getting there entails.”

            “Hang on,” I snapped a little sharper than I’d intended. I was only barely following the conversation and the whole proceeding had me on edge. “How long has this shit been going on for, exactly?”

            “We’ve been trapped in here for a little under an hour, I’d say,” Kayla responded with a small shrug. “Which reminds me; I’ve been wondering about your absence. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about all this, would you?”

            “Of course not,” I said. “I’ve been in my room sleeping. What the fuck else would I be doing?”

            “Helping set up some sort of elaborate ruse with Laura, perhaps,” she said, tone flat.

            “Nice one,” I muttered. “But no.”

            She regarded me coolly for a minute before looking away. “Then we have no leads and are trapped in this room until further notice.”

            My jaw clenched. I glanced towards the back of the room, where Caehl was standing between two bookshelves, her flashlight turned off and her person primarily ensconced in shadow. Both the lack of light and the lack of participation left her cut off from the rest of us. What was her problem, anyway? Oh, right; she fucking murdered AJ. Good thing I hadn’t asked that question out loud, I would have looked like a real asshole.

            “We just need to… think this through,” Zach said, voice only briefly faltering. “There must be something we can say to calm Laura down.”

            I sighed. “Could one of us… I don’t know, _pretend_ to be Ash?”

            “Laura already knows that Ash isn’t in here,” Mads said, glancing my way. “She figured that out before she got all of us cornered. Tricking her wouldn’t be easy. It _would_ be really dangerous.”

            I opened my mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a thump on the door. Laura’s voice hissed through, muffled and dampened by the weight of the wood. “I can hear everything you’re saying! Just tell me where they are and I’ll leave you alone.”

            “We don’t know, Laura!” Zach called back, turning to face the door. “We have no idea. But we can try to help you, okay? Just put that knife away so we can ta—”

            “ _Shut up_!” she actually _screamed._ “I don’t want to talk to you, you’re a _liar_ , Zach! You killed Malcolm and we figured it out and you _lied to us_ anyway and then _I_ had to fix your eye and you _didn’t fucking deserve my help_! Don’t you dare talk to me.”

            The whole room was looking at Zach, myself included. When my voice came out, I sounded angrier than I wanted to. “So you’re _really_ the one who killed him, huh?”

            “I… I-I-It’s—” He seemed to have lost his voice.

            Mads sighed a little loudly and pressed themselves against the door. “Laura, who told you that?”

            Laura didn’t respond immediately. When she did, it was with laughter. Low laughter, lower than I expected from her normal voice, quickly growing louder. Almost shrieking. When she recovered: “You know who, Mads. You met him in the… bathroom. He threw the stall door and you were—scared… I can s… see it, in my head. I can see all these—things, he showed me all these things, all these… h-h-h-h-he showed me Ash, before the prison, showed me what happened, when they…” I heard her let out a loud, sharp breath. “Tell me where they are.”

            “We don’t know,” Mads said, voice hard and dark.

            “ _Liar!_ You’re a _liar_ Mads, just like Zach! And you’re worse than him too, you lie about everything! I bet you were lying to me earlier today, weren’t you, when we were talking outside the cafeteria—I was panicked and scared and I bet you didn’t care at all. I bet you just wanted to _shut me up_. Just get rid of me and my problems. Poor _Laura_ , takes medication, poor _Laura_ , sad all the time, poor _Laura,_ likes _cows_ , poor Laura, _good for fucking nothing_! I know what you really think, Mads! You’re a liar. _Tell me where Ash is_!”

            “What in fuck’s name is she talking about?” I muttered under my breath.

            Mads glanced at me with a briefly panicked look that soon cleared to something like indecision. They opened their mouth, closed it again, and then turned back to the door. “Laura, Ash is with Nikita. That’s all I know. I’m telling you the truth, I promise. You need to trust us.”

            I frowned in annoyance. Laura was silent for a long moment. When she spoke, it sounded like it was through her teeth. “Fine. I’ll go find them, then. And if you’re lying, I’ll come back here and kill you first.”

            The sound of her footsteps was dim and hard to follow. Tension seemed to leave the room as near everyone let out a heavy breath. Kayla and Izzy immediately began talking, eyes narrowed and heads lowered as they spoke in hushed tones. Mads turned to Zach. “We need to chase after her. I can’t let her get to Ash.”

            Zach’s gaze flicked briefly up to the rest of us, then back to them. “But Ash is…”

            “I know, I know, but… we’ve gotta do something. I can’t let them just _die_.”

            “Okay. Maybe your… friend…?”

            “Maybe. I don’t know where she is, though. For now let’s just focus on Laura. Maybe sneak up on her?”

            I had no idea what the hell they were talking about, and considering my past track record when it came to asking questions, I wasn’t feeling any sort of urge to question them. Still… my last conversation with Mads came to mind. I really hadn’t wanted to get stuck in a conversation like that—just thinking about it was putting a bad taste in my mouth—but the exchange had put a different idea in my head. Maybe I should mention my _other_ problem to Mads? They seemed to be the most knowledgeable person in the prison. What was the harm in just… mentioning it?

            While I’d been lost in thought, Mads and Zach had finished their conversation. They immediately made for the doors, leaving the library without a word for the rest of us. I hesitated for a second before following.

            They were only a few yards ahead of me. I jogged to catch up, hand finding Mads’ shoulder. “Hey,” I said. “Could I—talk to you for a sec?”

            Mads narrowed their eyes at me, glanced back at Zach, then gave me another look. “About what?”

            “It’s,” I resisted the urge to make a face. “…Personal. Please? It’ll only take a second.”

            They sighed, then turned to Zach again. “Go on ahead. I’ll catch up soon.”

            He nodded and took off. They turned back to me. “Alright, what is it?”

            “Okay, look,” I said. I pressed a hand to my lips, trying to find the best way to word it. Mads wanted me to hurry… I couldn’t think straight.

            “Go on,” they said sharply.

            “Just give me a second,” I snapped. I rubbed at my face and let out a long breath. “Okay. You seem to have your shit together, like you might have even figured out some stuff about the prison, so I—”

            “If you’re looking for some sort of explanation about something or another, I really don’t think I can help you,” they muttered.

            “No, that’s not—” I huffed. “I wanted to tell you about something. In case you know anything about it.”

            They looked a little taken aback. “Okay.”

            “When I told you I haven’t been sleeping much, I…” I took another breath. “There’s a little bit more to it than that. I’ve been… forgetting things. Like parts of the day I can’t remember. Like I was out doing stuff and just… totally fucking forgot about it.”

            Their expression was hard to read. “How often has this happened?”

            “Not _that_ much, I don’t think,” I said quickly. “I’m not insane or anything. It’s just happened once or twice. Just a few hours of the day that I can’t remember.”

            “That sounds…” Their expression hardened. “ _Familiar._ Can I get back to you on this?”   

            “What?” I snapped. “What do you mean, familiar? What are you—?”

            “Aaron, seriously,” they said, touching my arm. “Thank you for telling me this. I am definitely on the case, okay? I think _someone_ ’s been fucking with you, and I think I might know who. I just… _really_ need to get this Ash situation under control first. Okay?”

            I studied them, hesitant. “Fine.”

            They took off without another word. I watched them go, feeling abruptly ill. Had that been a good idea? Was Mads really going to help, or did they have some horrible plan in mind that involved telling everyone my fucked-up secret? I grimaced. I didn’t want to think about this. It was done, and there was nothing I could do.

            The only thing I needed to be worried about was the timer, right? That was what mattered most. Just finding a safe way out of here before it hit zero. Right? Why was I suddenly doubting myself? We were going to be okay. I just needed to stop thinking about this. Thinking about it wasn’t going to do any good.

            I had nothing to worry about. I wasn’t going _crazy_ like Laura.

            Right? Ha ha.

            Right.  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<ASH>

}

            It was dark in the infirmary. All of the campus was dark at night, but the infirmary seemed especially dark. It felt colder, too. Like a walk-in freezer with the door bolted shut behind you. Maybe it was just my nerves getting to me. I suppressed a shiver and jogged a few paces to keep up with Nikita. She kept quick, long strides ahead of me, her staff loose and half-raised in her grip, her eyes sweeping steadily over the empty hallway. At a moment she came to a halt and lifted the staff higher, gaze almost accusatory as she watched for danger. When nothing lunged out at us, she proceeded.

            It was dead silent in the infirmary. When Nikita paused, I always thought she might have heard something, but I could never pick up any auditory changes. The only thing I could hear was the heavy, almost oppressive hum of the conditioning unit in the building. That’s what it was, right? Like an air conditioner, or something. But I couldn’t feel a breeze or a draft coming from anywhere. Well, that’s what it sounded like, at least.

            Nikita didn’t seem to hesitate as she turned the corners of the hallway. I’d been with her when we first unlocked this area, but she seemed to know it much better than I did. I could only assume that she’d given this building a very thorough examination. She led me down one hallway I didn’t recognize. Lining the interior wall were several heavy-looking metal doors with tiny, dark observation windows barely the width of my own face. She chose a door at random and gave the handle a quick tug—it opened without complaint.

            My name is Ash Aguirre, and tonight isn’t going very well for me.

            Nikita studied the room’s contents with a sweep of her flashlight. I peered inside at a distance and was startled to see soft, cushioned cream walls. This was a padded cell. I glanced down the row. Were they all padded cells? This was _some_ infirmary. Nikita, to my surprise, stepped inside the cell. She stood just inside the threshold, one hand on the doorway and her eyes on me, and it was so dark behind her that the black air looked speckled, as if full of stars.

            Neither of us had spoken a word since we’d left Zach and Mads. At length my voice found me again. “I don’t remember these rooms from before. Weren’t they locked?”

            Her head bobbed once to confirm. “Yes. These rooms unlocked early this morning, when the timer reached 48 hours. Well—it is possible that they unlocked at 72 hours, but we all we would have been too distracted by Natasha and Ari’s deaths to have noticed. Thus I can’t say for certain.”

            I pushed back a frown. “New areas unlock at the start of each day? But I thought Monobear had control over that.”

            As I spoke she glanced back into the padded cell, eyes sweeping the area carefully. “It is an automated process,” she said. “But Monobear _does_ have control over it. The mastermind was the one who set things up like this, after all.”

            “But… why?”

            She didn’t respond immediately. When she did she raised her head to look at me, blue eyes glittering in the star-black darkness. “It was necessary to simulate a mutual killing. Six chapters, with a new area unlocked in each. Six days, with a new area unlocked each morning.”

            “Chapters? I don’t…” My hand clenched tighter around my flashlight. “How do you know all of this?”

            “It is a long story,” she said, stepping one foot over the threshold, eyes never leaving me. “I imagine Madison had planned on telling it to you in the cafeteria tonight. But your attacker interrupted all this.”

            She put her hand out for me. I stared at it.

            “You wanted to hide, didn’t you?” she said. “You can trust me.”

            I didn’t _not_ trust her. I shifted on my feet before taking her hand and stepping into the padded cell. The tiny space smelled of soap and orange polish. Once I was behind her, she leaned further out of the room to study the doorway. “I can lock it from the outside,” she said after a moment. “This would offer you some additional protection—but I wouldn’t be able to stay with you.”

            She looked back at me, expecting an answer. “I don’t want to be alone,” I said after a pause.

            She looked back outside. Her dark hair obscured her face. I could hear her fingers quickly drum on the side of the wall. “Were I to lock you in here, it would be a bit harder for your attacker to find you. But she would be able to unlock the door from the outside.”

            “Then we shouldn’t do that, right?” I said.

            “Not necessarily,” she said. “I believe I could fight your culprit off.”

            I swallowed. “With your staff?”

            She looked back at me. “I am very quick,” she said.

            I felt out of place, standing in the middle of the dark cell. The floor felt too soft beneath my shoes, like cartoon clouds. “But if she beats you…” I said. “No, it’s too dangerous. It makes more sense for you to stay in here with me. If the situation really calls for it… well, you can still fight from in here, right?”

            She let out a long breath as she leaned away from the doorframe. “That makes sense, yes.” She nodded as she pulled the cell door closed, leaving us both inside. For a moment I couldn’t see—then she turned on her flashlight, flooding the small space with blue.

            We briefly studied each other under the sharp blue tint, quiet. Then she placed the flashlight horizontal on the ground, turning to sit facing the door. She drew her knees up to her chin, almost crouching, with her staff resting in front of her. I realized I was still standing and shifted a little uncomfortably, frowning at the spongey ground. I thought I could almost jump on it, maybe, like a trampoline. But now didn’t seem to be a good time. I sat down in the corner, cross-legged.

            We didn’t speak for several long minutes. I listened to the building’s distant (and now muffled) hum, staring off into the distance. My limbs felt unsteady beneath me, like if I moved too quickly I would start shaking all over. After a while the temperature started to get to me. Despite myself, my teeth started chattering.

            The moment they hit together, Nikita turned around to face me, gaze sharp. “It’s c-c-c-cold,” I said.

            She blinked. “I don’t have anything,” she said, tone vaguely apologetic. After a moment she moved to sit next to me, in much the same position as before. Our shoulders were only just touching—but her presence did help a little. Not much, though. She seemed to have no temperature to her at all; neither cold nor hot. Just there.

            Once I got the chattering under control, I looked up to see that Nikita was staring towards the door. She definitely seemed to be on edge. I chewed on my tongue for a moment before speaking again. “So uh, about Mads…”

            “Yes?”

            “Um. Why do you call them Madison?”

            She looked towards me, then back towards the door. “Mads is an abbreviation of Madison, is it not?”

            “I guess so,” I said. “But they like being called Mads.”

            “I am more comfortable with full names,” she said.

            “What do you mean?”

            “It is a… habit of mine,” she said, with unseen difficulty. “I don’t like using nicknames, and I consider an abbreviated name to be like a nickname. Madison and Mads are the same thing, aren’t they? Madison is just the full name.”

            “But Ash isn’t _my_ real name,” I pointed out. “Or at least, it wasn’t. So why do you call me Ash?”

            The look she gave me was dubious. “I wasn’t aware I had options.”

            I shrugged. “No one calls me by my old name anymore. I’m just Ash now.”

            “Hmm.” Her expression cleared as she blinked at me. “Perhaps you misunderstand me. I do not mean to attack Madison or anyone else. I simply don’t use nicknames anymore. I only ever used them once.”

            “Once?”

            She seemed to be deliberately looking towards the door now. “Yes. For my little shadow. Ash, I am an imaginary friend.”

            She said this very calmly, as if it wasn’t of much importance. I shifted on the ground, suddenly stiff all over. “But that’s not…” I shook my head. “That’s not possible.”

            “It is,” she said. “I was created by Buck Williams. You knew that name once, but now you have forgotten.”

            “Because of… the prison?”

            “Yes.”

            “Why… are you telling me this?”

            “Madison would have told you as much if you had met us in the cafeteria. I am simply following through with their intentions.”

            I shifted again. She turned to look at me. “I am self-aware,” she said. “That means I am aware of my lack of reality, and therefore able to deny reality itself. A being that is not real does not have to follow the rules of reality. Because of this, my memories weren’t wiped. This is why I know the things I know. Do you understand?”

            “Yes,” I said. We were quiet for a moment. I brought my knees up to my chin, like her, and placed my hands on them. “I think Mads would like it if you called them Mads,” I mumbled.

            She gave me a strained look, as though hurt, and then lowered her head with a sigh. It was the most emotion I’d ever seen her express at once. “It is better that they don’t get attached,” she said at length. “The way I have treated them has been intentional. Before long I will no longer be their problem.”

            Something about her tone seemed odd to me. I rubbed at my knees. “You mean you’re going to leave?”

            “In a sense,” she said.

            “I don’t understand.”

            “I am going to die,” she clarified, again in that calm tone.

            “What?” I almost yelped. “Why?”

            She studied me for a pained moment, as though looking for the right words. “I am Mads’ tulpa,” she said. “That means I am already dead. The whole of the prison is split up like this, half living and half dead. But because I am not real, I am neither alive nor dead. I am something different. The prison was not designed to deal with aberrations like this. As a result, Mads doesn’t need to kill me to leave. They could just walk out. And so could I. But I do not plan on doing so. I plan on being destroyed with the rest of the prison when the timer reaches zero.”

            My throat had gone dry. “You called them Mads,” I murmured.

            Her eyebrows knit together, looking almost hurt. “That is hardly… the subject at hand.”

            “I just… don’t understand why you’re telling me this…”

            “It was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” she said. “For someone to explain.”

            “Not about you dying,” I protested. “Is Mads really okay with this?”

            “They do not know,” she said.

            “Then why are you…”

            “You must understand, Ash,” she said softly. “That I have already failed. I thought if I could keep Mads indifferent towards me, then neither they nor anyone else would get attached. Yet here you are, prying.”  

            “You mean… you called them Madison so they wouldn’t _like you_?”

            She glanced away. “Not at first. But when I saw it could work that way, yes.”

            I let out a breath. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

            She didn’t respond, looking towards the door again. I sat up on my knees, leaning forward. “What else is there? Do you… know why that person is attacking me?”

            Silence. I squirmed. “Tell me, please. I want to know.” I swallowed, mouth dry. “You said the whole prison was split up like that. The… tulpas and everyone else. So you must know what I…” I could barely get the words out, everything was so dry and cold. “I’m one of the tulpas, aren’t I?”

            Nikita turned to look at me again, expression blank. She nodded once.

            I looked down at the floor. The cold was getting to me again, but I resisted the desire to shiver. “And the c-culprit… the person attacking me… she’s supposed to kill me, right?”

            “Yes,” Nikita said, softly.

            “So that’s why you’re telling me about all this,” I said. “Because I can’t do anything to change it. Because I’m going to die.”

            She shifted. I raised my head to see that she was facing me, her expression impossible to read. “No,” she said, tone low and soft. “I am telling you because I do not like lying. I had thought Mads would explain all this to you instead, in their way. But it did not work out like that. Instead, it… I could not lie to you, Ash.”

            “It doesn’t matter either way,” I said, almost gasping. “I’m going to die. I—I’m already dead?”

            Her eyebrows lowered. “Mads believes they can save you. Or they want to, at least. To find a way to bring you back.”

            I stared. “Is that possible? You… You remember everything, so… is that possible?”

            “I am uncertain,” she said.

            I lowered my gaze to the floor. I had started shaking again. I didn’t bother trying to stop it. After a moment, I felt Nikita’s hand on my shoulder. “Ash,” she said.

            “What?”

            She didn’t move. “Ash,” she repeated.

            I raised my head. She studied me with careful blue eyes. “I promise you I will keep you alive,” she said.

            “You can’t promise that,” I said.

            “I will find a way,” she said, almost sharply. “I do not break my promises. I do not lie. I am going to keep you alive.”

            “I’m scared,” I told her.

            The door burst open.

            Laura was standing there, wreathed in orange from the downcast beam of her flashlight. Her hair was messy and tousled and there was a wild look in her eyes, which seemed to gleam; her coat was loose around her shoulders and a knife sparkled readily in her grip. I knew immediately that she was my attacker, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. Before I could figure out how to react, Laura charged at us with a strangled yell.

            Nikita’s staff was still lying on the floor near the entrance. All I could register was the glint of the blade in Laura’s hand. She must have gotten it from the armory. It looked like a carving knife. The whole thing was metal and the hilt was gold and a big gold strip rang along the flat side of the blade, the rest of which was a bright silver that caught the glow of the flashlights and shone into my eyes like a beacon, blinding me. I couldn’t move from my position, kneeling in the corner. I could barely breathe.

            Nikita made to dive for the staff, but she wasn’t going to make it. Laura had already stepped over it. At the last second Nikita feinted and grappled Laura around her middle, slamming her to the ground. Her head hit the base of the door frame with a thump—but the room was padded, so it didn’t matter much. Nikita swept the staff up from under Laura’s legs and stepped back, lunging low to the ground like a spider.

            Laura recovered quickly, letting out a breathy grunt. As she stood up she looked around. Nikita was crouched between her and me, the staff held wide out to her side, her arm the arc of a brush stroke on canvas. The room was small. If she wanted to get to me, the only way there was through Nikita.

            She screamed and swiped the knife at Nikita with both hands, dangerously close to her face. Nikita dodged and completed the brush stroke forward, striking Laura with the staff. She staggered but didn’t falter; Nikita quickly brought the staff forward to block a downward strike from the knife, and for a moment the two of them were locked there, their blue eyes shining in the low light, their discarded flashlights scattering beams across the room, orange and blue mixing together and making a dark, muddy gold.

            Laura stabbed at her again and again, and Nikita met each attack with a quick reposition of her staff. Still, Laura was brutal and fought without hesitation: a few attacks would make Nikita briefly falter from the ferocity of the hit, and a few times she nearly missed the blade when it came down again. Each hit made me jump where I sat, my bones frozen in place. It was so cold in here. I couldn’t move but to press myself further into the corner of the room. It was so cold.

            Eventually Laura made a swing that Nikita couldn’t block—instead, she feinted down and to the side, the sweeping blade only barely missing the back of her head. Despite the danger, this attack had put her into an opportune position. I watched as she brought her staff up, the crook high in the air, then stepped back and brought the crook down on Laura’s neck. In an instant Laura was trapped, the crook wrapped around her neck, the wicked hooked point directed at her jugular.

            Laura let out a gasp. She reached for the crook to free herself, and in response Nikita shoved forward, driving the tip closer to her neck. Laura was forced to stagger backwards, her eyes wide with a strangled look of defeat. Nikita kept shoving until Laura was pressed up against the opposite wall, her hands grasping the air in front of the crook, the knife discarded on the ground. Nikita was breathing heavily, both hands tightly gripping the staff with her elbows angled high. I watched as her shoulders shifted up and down in front of me from the strain.

            Laura squirmed against the wall. Her eyes rolled over to find me, wide, blue pinpricks writhing in a sea of white. “Let me go,” she heaved, not looking at Nikita. “You know this is the way it has to be. Stop trying to change things.”

            Nikita did not move or respond. I shifted against Laura’s stare, rising shakily to my feet, feeling the soft of the wall against my palms as I slid upwards. I could see the whole room from that corner. The gold glare of the flashlights was making the room almost glow in my vision. I felt dizzy and empty and _still_ cold.

            The door was cracked open, and I as I watched someone on the other side carefully pulled it the rest of the way. It was Mads. They stood there with their eyes narrowed at the scene before them, and upon realizing what was going on seemed to look a little relieved. “Thank god for you, Nikita,” they said. “I figured Laura would beat me here.”

            She nodded once, expression terse and jaw clenched as she kept her eyes on Laura.

            They looked my way. “Come on, Ash,” they said. “I’m gonna get you out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there  
> If I'm going to introduce myself  
> I'm a cool guy with courage, spirit  
> and craziness  
> What you wanna hear, what you  
> wanna do is me  
> Damn! Girl! You so freakin sexy!  
> Ah Ah Ah Ah I'm a...  
> Ah Ah Ah Ah I'm a...  
> Ah Ah Ah Ah I'm a mother father  
> gentleman  
> Ah Ah Ah Ah I'm a...  
> Ah Ah Ah Ah I'm a...  
> Ah Ah Ah Ah I'm a mother father  
> gentleman


	24. 4.4 "Gold Blood"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My face hurts
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's the song playing on the radio](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gxi8cYZds5I) if you want something extremely unfitting to listen to while you read

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<MADS>

}

Investigation

            I bolted down the halls after my conversation with Aaron, eager to make up for lost time. I couldn’t see Zach up ahead, so I could only assume that he was exploring the surface—or had otherwise gone in a different direction. None of us knew for sure where Ash and Nikita were, and now I was regretting not asking Nikita her plans before they left. I just had to hope that I or Zach would be able to find them before Laura.

            I was uncertain of where to go, especially because I didn’t know where Zach had gone. Part of me almost wanted to make _him_ the first priority—the information Aaron had given me had put a very bad taste in my mouth, after all. But Ash’s life was on the line. I had to focus on that for now.

            Eventually I found myself running towards the ladder to the surface—but then I heard a voice behind me hiss, “Mads!”

            I spun around to see, of all people, the hooded figure peering around the side of the cafeteria. I raised an eyebrow; her hood was off, revealing a soft and intent face, long and tousled brown hair, and sharp brown eyes of the exact same hue. With one hand she beckoned me over. Relieved that no one else was around, I jogged her way.

            As I turned the corner, it became ever-more clear that something out of the ordinary was going on. Leaning against the wall behind the girl was _another_ hooded figure, this one wearing a cat hat that poked through some holes in her hood. I could see her features a little better than the previous, however—she also had brown hair, but her face was harder and darker, and her eyes sparkled with a reddish gleam as I stared. “What’s going on?” I said.

            The first opened her mouth, but the second beat her to it, sitting up from the wall. “Listen, I’ll just cut right to the chase,” she said. “I’m Gam, this is Olivia. She’s the asshole who’s been running your simulations this whole time. I’m the asshole who’s been controlling Monobear this whole time. We only just figured out that each of us was the other. Before then, both of us thought the other was a psychopathic murderer hell-bent on ruining the lives of everyone in the prison. We are well aware of the irony of the situation. We’re also both very relieved to know that we can work together now, instead of trying to do all this shit apart. We figured we’d cue you in on the full story because at this point you were pretty close to it anyway.”

             Olivia, as I now knew her, raised an eyebrow at Gam and then nodded at me. “Yeah, pretty much.”

            I looked back and forth between the two of them for a moment. “You mean to tell me that you’re _both_ the good guys, and neither of you knew?”

            “Like I said,” Gam huffed. “We’re aware of the irony.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d planned on going through this whole thing without revealing myself, because whoever got out of the prison would get to know me anyway. But then _she_ —” she forked a finger at Olivia “—ganked Bree right out from under me, and I started thinking that all you fuckers were in for some serious shit.”

            “And _I_ thought that the mastermind controlling Monobear planned on putting the survivors who escaped the prison into an even worse situation,” sad Olivia. “We only figured it out because Gam left her base to do some exploring, and came across the mansion that myself and your other friends are living in.”

             “Everyone from the campsite, plus myself and Bree,” Gam clarified.

            “Hang on,” I said. “Campsite? Mansion?”

            “That’s a longer story,” Olivia muttered. “I already spent half the day getting Gam filled in on that one. And anyway, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

            “Oh shit,” I said, shaking myself. “Ash.”

            “Chill out, Olivia’s just fucking with you for some ungodly reason,” Gam said.

            “Hey, I saw an opportunity—”

            “Yeah, I know,” Gam grumbled. I thought I saw her fight a smile. “Anyway, Ash is fine. We just finished checking up on them.”

            I calmed a little. “From outside the prison?”

            “Yeah,” she said, adjusting her hat with one hand. “We’ve both got some bullshit technology junk rigged up to run the prison. We can both monitor any place in this simulation freely, no problem.”

            “What about Laura, then?” I said.

            “She’s being very thorough,” Olivia said, expression terse. “She’s still a ways off from finding Nikita and Ash, but it’s only a matter of time.”

            “They’re in the infirmary, by the way,” Gam said. “Proll’y should mention that. Nikita’s hid ‘em in one of the padded cells.”

            I let out a long breath. “Okay, that’s good to hear. So why did you guys make Laura go all crazy or whatever? What exactly are we gaining from that?”

            Gam sighed exaggeratedly. “Great question. Care to tell us, Olivia?”

            “What?” she looked over to Gam.

            “What do you mean, what?” she said, lowering her arms. “You’re the ‘mysterious person’ who’s been running around and tellin’ people their destinies. So why make Laura go crazy?”

            Olivia blinked a few times. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I haven’t been doing that. I thought you were the one doing that.”

            “What?”

            “What do you mean, what?”

            “It’s not me,” Gam said a little incredulously. “I’ve just been controlling Monobear.”

            “And I’ve just been running the simulations, so…”

            I groaned. “So there’s a _third_ mastermind.”

            “Oh my god,” Gam snapped. “This is starting to get fucking stupid.”

            We were all quiet for a moment, processing this. “Now that we’re on the subject,” I said finally, narrowing my eyes. “Laura had said some things about the person who approached her a little while ago. She said they ‘showed her things’, and she used male pronouns.” I remembered what Aaron had told me and felt another pang of fear at the fact that I didn’t know where Zach is. “Some things that I don’t like are starting to make sense,” I muttered.

            “Okay, that’s progress at least,” Gam said, snapping her fingers. “I want an update on that shit, Mads, but for now our focus should be Ash.”

            I nodded.

            “I wanted to show you Ash and Laura’s simulation,” Olivia said, stepping forward. “While there’s still time.”

            “What if Laura finds them while I’m watching it?” I said, frowning.

            “I’ll be on the outside keeping an eye on things,” Gam said, waving a hand. “If shit starts getting wild, I can tell you guys to hurry it the fuck up.”

            “Okay. But why not just _tell_ me the story?” I asked Olivia. “You’ve seen all the simulations yourself, right?”

            She shrugged. “Sure. But I couldn’t tell the story any faster—or better—than the real deal. And anyway, I tend to ramble. At the very least the simulation will keep us on topic.”

            “If you say so,” I said. Then, “Lead the way.”

            Gam followed us as we made our way to the spare cells in the prison. I was curious about her, but she wasn’t saying anything and I already had a million other things to worry about. I kept pace next to Olivia, her strides short but quick. Eventually the need to talk overwhelmed the rest of me. “So why the spare cells? You set those up, right?”

            “Yep,” Olivia said. “They seemed like an appropriate fit. Inauspicious enough to seem like they belonged, but strange enough to garner attention. And it got _your_ attention, so it worked out well enough.”

            “What about Gam?” I asked, glancing back at her. “Weren’t you suspicious?”

            “Oh, sure,” Gam said, waving a loosely gloved hand. “But the simulations Olivia runs in those cells are separated from the bigger simulation of the prison. Olivia can turn hers off an’ on without disrupting anything out here. So every time Monobear tried to investigate…”

            “I’d cut the power,” Olivia said. “All Gam would see on the other side was a big black void.”

            “Real frustrating,” Gam grumbled.

            “You mean what _I_ see every time a simulation ends?” I said, tone not unlike Gam’s.

            “Sorry,” Olivia said with a small grin. “Though this place might _look_ a little fancy, Gam and I aren’t professionals at this. I don’t have any gilded end screens. But I promise you you’re never in any danger. Not while you’re in there, at least.”

            “Are you so sure about that?” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You didn’t seem to know about this third mastermind until a few minutes ago, after all.”

            “Did you and Gam?” she countered, suddenly serious. “If the mastermind _could_ get into my simulations… well, that wouldn’t be good. But he hasn’t tried anything yet. So we can only assume that either he _can’t_ … or he doesn’t know about my simulations in the first place.”

            “Yet,” I said.

            “I wouldn’t get your hopes up for that second one,” Gam added from behind us. “This guy seems to know about pretty much everything that goes on here. Wherever they need to be, that’s where they show up. How can we be so sure that they don’t know about your simulations as well?”

            “Because I’ve been very careful not to be seen by anyone but Mads,” she said. “It’s very likely that this mastermind thinks there’s only _one_ other person controlling the prison instead of _two._ We thought as much earlier. That assumption could be more than enough to write me out of the mastermind’s equation.”

            “Hmm,” Gam said, expression vaguely disgruntled. “We should try to keep it that way, then.”

            “Okay, sure,” I said. “But I don’t see why I’m doing all the grunt work here. Why don’t one of you go take care of Ash while I watch this simulation?”

            “Because,” Olivia said. “We’re not actually here.”

            “What?”

            She stopped walking and turned to face me—we were right next to one row of empty cells, anyway. She put her hand out. I studied her palm in consternation for a moment, then made to take her hand. Instead my hand went straight through hers. I immediately felt like I should have been more alarmed than I actually was; but something about it felt strangely natural, as if this was the only thing that made sense. Her hand didn’t wisp or become incorporeal or glitch or flicker or do anything else similar: it stayed perfectly solid and perfectly real-looking while my hand passed right through as if it were air.

            “Same goes for Gam,” Olivia said while I tried it again, fascinated. “These are just computer projections; our actual persons are sitting at desks in the real world, saying all these things into a microphone.”

            “We _could_ sort of… teleport ourselves into the prison, if we wanted to,” Gam said. “But it would have some—uh, complications.”

            “What do you mean?” I asked her, looking up.

            Gam made a face and glanced to the side. “The prison doesn’t… differentiate. Junko set it up like that. If you interact with it in any way, touch it or screw with it at all—and that includes messing with the program—then the prison will recognize you as a prisoner.”

            “So it’ll give you a tulpa,” I said, realizing.

            “Yeah,” she said, swallowing. “I didn’t know that because I was working off of borrowed information. But Olivia knew all this ahead of time, because she’s got Junko’s files to help her out. Hence why she’s the only one out of all our friends who’s ever touched the program. But when I… started, I didn’t know… Well, Caehl’s here now, anyhow.”

            “So if you teleport into the prison, you won’t be able to leave until Caehl’s dead,” I murmured.

            “Yep.”

            “And that’s why she couldn’t leave after she killed AJ,” I continued. “Because she’s already dead.”

            “Yep. Can we talk about something else now?”

            I looked at Olivia. “So Aaron is…? But hang on, that doesn’t make sense. Aaron’s been here for a month. He’s alive.”

            Olivia’s jaw tightened a little. “How do you know about that? The month thing, I mean.”

            “Nikita explained. Were you guys not here for that?”

            “Guess not,” Gam grumbled. “We must have still been talking in the real world.”

            Olivia’s eyebrow furrowed. “No, Aaron is… a special case, we think. He’s alive, but there’s no one else in the prison to be his tulpa. So he must not have one at all.”

            “Is that even possible?” I said.

            She shrugged. “You get a tulpa based on a past emotional experience that led to a death. It’s certainly possible that no one’s died in his past. Or at least no one that he was close enough to for it to qualify. So if there’s no one applicable… well, it stands to reason that a tulpa wouldn’t show up at all.”

            I narrowed my eyes. “Okay, fair enough. But what about you? You’ve messed with the program, like Gam said, so shouldn’t you have a tulpa?”

            We were all quiet for a moment. Olivia averted her gaze. After an agonizing pause, Gam sighed. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she said. “I should be keeping an eye on Ash, anyway. Just holler if you need me.”

            When I turned around, she was gone. I looked back at Olivia, eyebrows lowered. “What’s going on?” I said lowly.

            “I’m not real,” she said. “Like Nikita. That’s why I don’t have a tulpa.”

            I blinked. “What? You’re an imaginary friend?”

            “No, I’m…” she swallowed. “It’s not the same case as Nikita. But I _am_ self-aware like she is. And because I’m self-aware, I can exist like a real person. Just with some special side effects—like being unable to die, not having a heartbeat, and not being registered as a human being by a computer simulation. Just as a few examples.”

            “But I don’t understand,” I said, my head shaking without me telling it to. “Nikita is my tulpa. So why…?”

            “It’s a different relationship,” she said. “A self-aware person can be a tulpa, but a self-aware person can’t _have_ a tulpa.” She paused, frowning. “In theory, _neither_ relationship should be possible for someone who isn’t real, but Nikita seems to have broken the rules a little more than the average. Somehow the program registered her as ‘dead,’ even though she can’t actually die in the first place. I can’t say why—not for sure, at least. She really is an enigma to me, but I’m working on it.”

            I stared at her, eyes hopelessly wide. “But you’re really…? I don’t understand, how is that possible? How can you not be…?”

            “I’m a character,” she said. “From a story. A _scrapped_ character, really, but… from the same place that Junko is from, regardless.”

            I huffed, feeling a little baffled. “Does Gam know about this?”

            She nodded. “I believe she left because it would have been a little awkward on her end to stick around. But Gam’s never had her memories tampered with, and apparently she’s one of the people that I told all this to before the war started. So yes, she knows.”

            I was quiet for a minute. “So what about this Junko person? I keep hearing that name. In the simulations, from you and Gam.”

            “Now we’re getting back into the ‘long story’ territory,” she said, apologetic. “And definitely one that I will tell you—when we have more time. For now, I just need you to trust me. So we can get you through this simulation and save Ash. Is that okay?”

            Not really, I thought. “Yeah, I guess,” I said.

            She frowned at me for a minute, then surprised me by saying, “You know, you can leave if you want to.”

            “What?”

            “You could just leave. You and Nikita. Nothing’s keeping you guys here.”

            “But what about the others?”

            “I could find someone else to help,” she said with a shrug. “Ash, maybe, if they’re up to it.”

            I stared at her for a long moment. Despite myself, I found that I was taking her suggestion seriously. “No,” I said at length. “I want to help the others.”

            She regarded me coolly for a second, but didn’t press it. Instead, she pulled open the cell door nearby—I duly noted that it was the one with the picture of Jillian on the front before following her through. The cold of the prison left me and the emptiness of black nothing took its place. I was quiet for a moment, shifting on the balls of my feet.

            “You gonna turn this thing on?” I asked after a minute.

            “Working on it,” came a level reply. There was a pause, then I was once again blinded by unexpected light and life. Blinking a few times, it took me a moment to realize that the world around us wasn’t going to stop moving. Beneath me, the hum of an engine murmured uninterrupted; Olivia was sitting across from me, quietly buckling her seatbelt. We were sitting in the backseat of a car—a jeep by the looks of it—that was speeding rapidly up a narrow highway incline, the sheer wall of a stony cliff just to our right. I leaned forward: Laura and Ash were sitting in the front, mere inches away from me, quiet while the radio droned on between them. I looked at Olivia, expression questioning.

            “Oh, they can’t hear us,” she said with a blink. “They never have before, after all. Though I would seriously put on your seatbelt. This one gets a little wild.”

            “I don’t see how a simulated seatbelt is going to help me,” I said as I put it on regardless.

            “Sure, it’s simulated,” she said. “But you’re in the simulation for _real_. If you die, you’re actually dead. So, you know. Safety first.”

            “That’s _alarming_ ,” I said a little loudly. “I thought you said I was safe in here.”

            “Oh—well, yes, in here you are,” she clarified. “I was talking about in the prison.”

            “Great,” I grumbled. “Thanks.”

            She grinned, wry, snapping her fingers in the direction of the front seat. “Perhaps these two can take your mind off of it.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _The landscape stretched like winding brown ribbons on either side of Laura’s head as she weaved around one corner after another. The car hummed unending beneath her, the radio occasionally clipping or stuttering as they sped around a bend. Dusk was setting in, the September air cool outside the windows, and before long it would be dark. She hoped they would find somewhere relatively safe to stop before then—she didn’t like driving in the dark, especially not on a two-lane highway like this one._

_If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t really like driving at all. But she and Ash were both in clear agreement that, of the two of them, she was superior behind the wheel. Ash didn’t like driving either, and had put significantly less effort into learning the task. Though Laura put up a front of annoyance regarding the subject, the truth was that it sort of amused her. Ash behaved like a person who had all their shit together, who knew what they were doing; but in actuality, they were more often than not going in blind and out of control. Laura knew Ash more than well enough to understand that._

_For the time being, her passenger was silent, hand pressed hard against their chin as they studied the mountainside beyond the window, soft brown hair falling in their face and blurring their features. Laura could tell they were deep in thought—but she wasn’t. She turned her ear to the radio, keeping her eyes on the road._

_“…would have been rather funny, I think, if not for the explosion,” the host was saying, his voice sharp and conspiratorial. “That said, despite all the violence my sources tell me that the event ended rather easily! The conspiratorial Kibougamine’s Cat appeared on the scene with a squadron of helpers to rescue fallen rebels. As a result of their influence, there were few casualties on our side, with the current total at four. Let’s hope it stays that way, and that no new missing names show up on my roster. As usual, I’ll try to get you the names of the deceased as soon as I can.”_

_Laura heard the sound of shuffling papers on the radio as she rounded another bend. “Now, next on my list is a topic coming from one of my most popular sources—the rebel Jae Brown and his friends on the ever-so mysterious message boards. Oftentimes people will ask me: ‘Rust, how-ever did you come to befriend one of the people who no small measure of rebels consider to be the leaders of the entire resistance?’ Well, it was quite simple: the desecration of the military of course. As many of you know, I was conscripted before Junko decided to obliterate what remained of this country’s armed forces. Can you imagine? Rust the soldier! Well, of course, they would have used my real name, but I am not so foolish as to speak that in a place where Junko’s Soldiers of Despair might overhear.”_

_Laura knew Rust’s real name was Archie Garcia. When Jae had first met him, he had been sure to determine whether or not he was a trustworthy ally before any sort of friendship had developed. As a result, most everyone on the message boards knew the radio host’s background in full detail. She glanced over at Ash—they didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the radio._

_“Anyway, it turned out that Jae and some other members of the message boards—who understandably wish to maintain their anonymity—had been working with the military. After Junko’s attack, I regrouped with them by happenstance. Fast forward many a month, and we find ourselves here! I tell you all this so perhaps you can begin mailing me about more exciting things than the past. For the past has already happened, listeners, and our hope lies with the future.” He cleared his throat, pausing for a brief moment. “Anyway, like I promised after last broadcast, I got in contact with Jae about the subject of this mysterious ‘self-aware ally’ that people keep telling me about. As the story goes, Junko is not the only person out there who is a self-aware character. And this second individual seems to be bent on helping the resistance rather than hindering it!_

_“I have been given many a description of a figure in a long black coat appearing like a blur to places of need—often in the midst of heavy gunfire, poisonous gases, and even explosions. Things that, surely, no normal human could ever survive. Yet reports of this figure keep coming in, despite the horrors that she reportedly undergoes! It seems likely to many of my listeners, and indeed to me as well, that this figure must be self-aware like our enemy Junko. It is the only way that she could continually survive all these harrowing encounters._

_“So, I pressed Jae and his friends for comment on the subject. Surely, if any rebels know the origins of this self-aware character, it must be them. The answer Jae brought back to me, listeners, was… cryptic. He said—and I quote!: ‘As you know by our own relationship, Rust, I am a very good judge of character. Were I to be in contact with anyone who was self-aware, you could trust me in saying that they were on our side.’” Archie paused briefly after reading this. “Certainly an intriguing way to respond to me. Don’t you agree, listeners? I have much to say on the subject of this self-aware character, and how she may or may not relate to our friends on the message boards—but for now, let’s take a little music break. How about some techno?”_

_After a brief moment of silence, his voice was replaced by a fast, bass-heavy mix. Laura bobbed her head a little, but before long she wasn’t paying much attention to it. Between glances at the road, she looked in Ash’s direction. They would occasionally straighten up in their seat and wheel around to glance at the road behind them, frowning—then settle down again, only to peer forward across the highway with narrowed eyes._

_Unable to take much more of the silence, Laura asked, “You alright?”_

_“Hmm?” they looked up at her, attentive, then back to the road. “Uh, yeah. I’m just a little worried, that’s all.”_

_“Cause of Anaheim?”_

_“_ Yeah _,” they said, with emphasis, as though it were obvious. They twisted around in their chair. “I thought I heard tires or sirens or something as we were leaving. What if someone saw us? What if they sent one of the Super High School Level Despair after us?”_

_“They might have,” Laura admitted, frowning a little. “But I haven’t heard or seen anything, and I’ve been driving this whole time. If someone was following us, we would know, wouldn’t we?”_

_“There’s lots of roads in this area,” they said, still focused on looking behind the car._

_“Yes, but this one is the fastest,” she reminded them. “Even if someone is trying to secretly follow us, we’re going to be at least 30 minutes ahead of them, wherever we go.”_

_They were quiet, still staring out the back window. Laura sighed. “Ash, we blew up the entire city. Disneyland was burning. Mickey Mouse’s dilapidated face was melting as we drove off. Even_ if _someone is following us, they’re not going to have supplies or resources or back-up or anything. We’re safe, okay?”_

_Ash laughed a little cautiously. “Yeah, Mickey Mouse was melting, wasn’t he? My brother would have loved that.”_

_“Lizzie would have too,” she murmured back. Their respective siblings had died near the beginning of the war—California had been among some of the first states to fall to despair, after all. They’d just been passing through the city on the way to somewhere better, but Junko’s army had other plans. Laura could still hear the gunfire in her head, if she thought about it for too long. Now, almost three years later, they’d finally staked their revenge. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A city for some siblings._

_Ash was quiet for a moment. “Still, if someone is chasing us… what do you suppose we should do? To prepare?”_

_Laura shrugged, sliding the steering wheel in her palms. “Guns out, suns out.”_

_Ash stifled a laugh. “You don’t even have a gun,” they chided. “You have a switchblade. And a_ chain _. That you swing around like a wild animal.”_

 _“I do not!” she cried back, indignant. “I use it to break locks and bust pipes and intimidate bad guys. It may look like a blunt weapon, but it is actually a device of extreme skill and finesse. And my switchblade is none other than the best friend sword, excuse you. Tt’s shaped like a bullet and it’s awesome._ You’re _the one with a goddamn spiked bat.”_

_“Yeah, you’re right,” they said flatly. “I’m not even going to try to deny it. I have a spiked bat and I use it to smash things to pieces. What’s the problem with that?”_

_“There isn’t one,” she said, stifling a low laugh. “’Cept that I think you might hit me one of these days.”_

_“Hey, I’ve got more self-control than that!” they said, leaning forward in their seat only to quickly recline back. “Well, most of the time, at least.”_

_“If you say so.”_

_For a while, they were both quiet. Laura watched Ash fidget out of the corner of her eye, craning their neck around time and time again to get a thorough look at the car’s surroundings. After a time, they sighed. “Seriously. I’m nervous. It feels like that was too easy.”_

_Laura pressed her lips together. “Okay, I’m a little nervous too. Admittedly. I don’t think we got off too easy, but… I’ll feel better once we get over the state line. Then we won’t have to worry about Junko’s army jumping us around every corner.”_

_“But if we’re followed…”_

_“Then we kill them,” Laura said sharply, briefly taking her eyes off the road to bore them into Ash. “We kill them before they can kill us. Okay?”_

_“Okay,” Ash said._

_She drove for several more hours, well into the night. After what felt like an eternity, she found herself steering the car through an abandoned rest stop on the side of the highway. An empty gas station leered like a giant cicada husk in the moonlight, and on her left a dilapidated restaurant of some sort was half-sunk into the dirt. Debris and chunks of buildings were scattered all across the area; big masses of cinderblocks that reared in the night and long slats of splintered wood._

_Grimacing, she touched Ash’s shoulder, rousing them from a shaky sleep. “I don’t think we’re going to find any other places tonight,” she said. “We’ll have to hide out here.”_

_They looked around blearily, taking in the veritable skeleton surrounding the car. “That’s alright,” they mumbled. “Been through worse.”_

_Laura paused, gripping the back of the seat to glance behind her. Far in the distance, the road that they’d come from intersected with another strip of highway that crossed through this late rest stop. There was no way to hide a car out in the open like this, but driving further wasn’t an option. There was little hope of finding something better up ahead, and her exhaustion was getting the better of her. “In or out?” she asked Ash._

_“In,” they said, voice muffled. “It looks cold outside.”_

_“Okay. Where should I, uh,” she made a face. “Park?”_

_“Mmm…” They raised their head again, casting a long and narrowed glance across the dark street. “In front of the gas station, over there,” they said, pointing. “That way anyone around here won’t be able to see us until they’re adjacent to the car. We’ll hear them coming before they can make a move.”_

_Laura took a moment to follow their logic, and decided it was sound. There was no way for a person to approach on foot, as they wouldn’t know to look for anything unless they came from the road first. And the only way to come from the road was by coming right up next to them. Nodding, she said, “I’ll roll down the windows so we can hear if anything weird happens.”_

_“Yeah,” Ash mumbled, clearly already half asleep._

_After getting the car situated, Laura clicked off the ignition and leaned back in her seat. She took off her jacket it and laid it over her front, letting out a long breath. The sound of distant winds murmuring over the empty landscape stretched through the windows, whipping languidly across the empty stretch of highway. The constant hush-hush of the air lulled her. She closed her eyes, falling into an uneasy sleep._

_She was awoken by a roaring sound._

_In her sleep-induced stupor, it took her a painfully long moment to comprehend what it could be. An animal? A dust storm? Thunder from a flash flood? Ash suddenly yelled besides her. She shot up in her seat just in time to see the car bathed in bright orange light. It was coming from the other end of the gas station, through the glass, and rapidly consumed the car as it grew closer. In a moment of horror she realized it was another vehicle. Another vehicle that was bearing down on them_ through _the gas station._

_Panic and disbelief clouded her movements, the roar of the engine drowning out all reason. She simultaneously scrambled to ignite the ignition and open the car door. She had time to do neither before the encroaching vehicle reared through the front of the gas station in a horrific blast of glass, dirt, and noise. Then it hit the side of her car and it flipped._

_Despite the chaos, Laura was fully aware of what was happening as the car twisted through empty space. The air had left her on impact; her ears seemed dull and picked up little sound as sky became earth and earth became sky. The rest stop spun in a spiral of moonlight as glass shards floated in her vision. Ash was screaming beside her and then suddenly Ash wasn’t as the car hit the ground at an angle and her friend was flung through the window. More glass rained across Laura as the car skidded to a stop, uneven beneath her._

_For a long moment Laura didn’t move, still frozen with panic. Her breath came in long, heavy gasps. Glass crunched all around her when she finally dared to shift a few limbs. It felt like she was bleeding from everywhere and nowhere at once._

_Her glasses had been flung from her face and now lay discarded on the dashboard. A toothy maw of glass was gaping in the center of the windshield. Laura retrieved her glasses with a shaking and scarred hand. She couldn’t see Ash anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Suddenly fearing the malevolent presence of the other driver, she hastened to kick her door open and duck around the side of the car, out of sight._

_Doing so also allowed her to better assess the damage. Their attacker had driven through the back of the gas station to hit their car. The other car—a small and sleek thing with a peach finish and dark-tinted windows—sat at an angle just in front of where their jeep had been parked only moments ago. It was covered in a myriad of scratches, dents, and blemishes. The jeep was now lying several hundred yards away, at the other end of the road, at an angle but somehow upright. Near everything about it was battered, dented, or smashed. Laura surmised that they must have flipped about three times._

_She looked in the direction the windshield was facing for any sign of Ash. Adrenaline was still pumping her veins raw, but fear was slowly beginning to take its place. Their attacker couldn’t see her from this side of the car, but the empty front seat would tell a story of its own. She didn’t have much time, but she still took a second to look down at herself: both of her hands and most of her arms were covered in numerous red scratches and cuts from the glass. Her right hip ached, and smarted when she applied pressure—she figured she’d bruised it on the edge of the seatbelt when they were hit. Her face felt numb and inflamed, but she didn’t take the time to check it in the reflection of the car. She could hear footsteps approaching, slowly._

_Thinking quickly, she darted for some of the hulking piles of rubble several feet away. This side of the street seemed to be in much more disrepair than the gas station’s, though their attacker’s entrance had certainly leveled the playing field somewhat. Most of the rubble here looked to have once been a part of a larger building: huge chunks of cinderblock with long, snaking metal poles hissing out of their middles, stretched towards the sky. They cast long, blocky shadows over Laura’s hiding place as she dared to peer around the corner._

_A girl was standing in front of the jeep, inspecting her handiwork with a critical gaze. She was wearing a dark, green-gray jumpsuit that cut off at her thighs, boots running up her legs to cover the distance. Her lapel was decorated with all sorts of symbols and markings, in lieu of a military outfit yet somehow horrendously mocking. Despite her striking outfit, her face seemed remarkably normal. Her eyes were pale blue. Her hair was dark brown and well-groomed, save for the shards of glass clinging to it. She had freckles. Laura thought she almost looked friendly, in a way, like a person who was here to save them instead of condemn them. She almost wanted to step out of her hiding place. Almost._

_The girl was quiet for a long moment, then mused, seemingly to no one in particular, “Hmm.” She wheeled around suddenly to look in the windshield’s direction, just as Laura had done. Her gaze could only be described as rapturous as she ran a hand across the base of her chin. “Well, you couldn’t_ both _fit through that hole,” she said, chiding. “So come on, where are you hiding?”_

_Laura didn’t move, watching. She kept her breaths long and deep._

_“I’m gonna find one of you eventually,” the girl said after a pause. As though to prove her point, she then strode further away from the car, clearly looking for whoever had been flung through the window._

_Fearful of what she might do to Ash, Laura quickly scrambled around the rubble, taking care to stay out of the girl’s sight. The chunks of cinderblocks seemed to grow smaller as she went, though such a term was relevant—even the shortest easily reached her hips. She considered how big the structure must have been when it was properly standing, hands brushing one particularly large block as she rounded its corner. And then came to a stop, suddenly unable to breathe._

_The night was mercifully moonlit. It framed Ash like a ring: them, the cinderblock, the horizon, then the moon behind it, a wide white arc. When they’d been flung from the car, they really had been_ flung _; their landing spot had been one of the cinderblocks. The rods snaking out of the cinderblocks. Snaking through them, slick with blood, their arms spread out wide at their sides, immobile. Laura could see their eyes, wide and whiter than the moon behind them, their mouth half-open._

_Suddenly Laura couldn’t move. She gripped onto the cinderblock beside her for support, the ground seeming to pitch and spin beneath her as if she were back in the car and it was flipping again. She couldn’t stay upright and lowered herself to her knees. She crouched there and forced herself to breathe, the sound of it jagged and knife-like in her ears. Dimly, she noted that the girl was approaching Ash from the road. She walked slowly, as though taking in the scene._

_“Huh,” she said sharply, glancing back at the car. “Wow! I didn’t know I’d manage something like this. That was some great handiwork on my part.”_

_“Ah… huh…?” Laura heard Ash breathe. Their nearest hand twitched slightly; half-lifted, then lowered. Jesus, they were still alive? God, god, god. Laura couldn’t think. She couldn’t move._

_“You know,” the girl said, leaning on the side of Ash’s cinderblock. “I deserve to be commended here. You guys really thought of everything! You weren’t gonna let anyone sneak up on you. But you didn’t think you’d meet someone gutsy enough to bust through a building, huh? You didn’t factor_ me _in. Haha! Man, this is great.”_

_Ash didn’t make a noise. Laura could tell by their expression that the reality of the situation was setting in; their features twisting with a mixture of pain and surprise. They must have been unconscious before now, or otherwise slipping away. But this girl had pulled them back._

_“Hey!” she barked after a pause, tugging roughly on Ash’s arm. They dropped another inch down the poles and let out a horrible groan. “Hey, don’t you know how to greet an old friend? God, it’s like you don’t even remember me.”_

_As she spoke, Ash had made a miserable attempt to lift their head and look at her. The gaze they managed was sidelong and probably blurry, but they nevertheless managed to croak out, “J…Jillian?”_

_Of course it was Jillian. Laura could see it in her features now. The final of Junko’s Super High School Level Despairs; the last to reveal themselves. But Jillian’s expression twisted into a snarl. “No,” she snapped. “No, that’s not right. Jillian is dead, okay? Hey, are you listening? I know you’re bleeding out or whatever but this is important so focus a second. Okay? Jillian is dead. Okay? They pumped her full of drugs and her brain broke and she couldn’t take it anymore so I killed her and took her place. Do you understand? My name is Sou, ‘kay? Jillian is dead. You call me Sou.”_

_Ash’s expression twisted again. Their head lolled back, defeated. “S… Sou…”_

_Sou smiled. Laura shivered. “Yeah, see, you get it,” she said. “See, dying can’t be that bad if you can still process information while it’s happening, you know? I mean, look at yourself! You’re impaled and yet you’re still really making an effort to get to know me here. I appreciate it, I really do.”_

_“I’m… impaled?” Ash choked. “I thought… I don’t understand… why… Where is Laura?”_

_“Probably scampered off into the desert to abandon you the moment the car landed,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Who cares? I’ll catch her later. But right now you’re dying, y’know, and I came here to kill you guys, y’know, cause you blew up one of our really important despair cities and Junko just can’t let that go without punishment. Y’know? And like, here I am killing you, right now. So I’ve really gotta spend some time with you in this moment, so I can say I did my job properly.”_

_“What… What are you talking about?” Laura could see that Ash’s eyes were blurry with tears._

_“I’m talking about despair!” she cried. “I mean, obviously. Really. You should have answered that one yourself.”_

_“Super High School Level…”_

_“Despair, yes, that’s me,” she snapped. “Jesus, do you talk slow or what. Look, you’re about to die, so I’m here to make you despair in your last moments. Cause your best friend ditched you and you got impaled on roadside debris and your brother is dead and really there’s just nothing good about your life at all. I can see it in your eyes, okay? The despair. I’ve got a sense for it, or whatever. I can see that you’re ready to give in.”_

_“No, no, Laura didn’t…” They flailed against the metal rods and their face immediately crossed with pain. “Laura didn’t… leave me,” they gasped out._

_Sou huffed. “Okay. Sure, whatever. Laura’s right here to save the day. What the fuck does it matter? Seriously! You’re impaled! What the hell is Laura gonna do to make things better?”_

_Laura was forced to admit to herself that Sou was right. There was no good way to save Ash at this point. She could see two pistols slung loosely in holsters at Sou’s side—she would be able to shoot Laura before she could get close. Even if Sou wasn’t there, removing Ash from the poles would be near impossible. And even if she_ could _get Ash down from there, it would do nothing but make them bleed out faster. There was no way to save Ash anymore. They were going to die._

_“H… ha… ah…” For a moment Ash couldn’t respond, struggling to breathe. Finally they craned their neck at Sou again, a line of red running from their lips. “I don’t care,” they said, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t care bec-cause while you’re talking to me, Laura c-can get away.”_

_Sou sneered, then spun around to search the immediate landscape. Upon finding it empty, she looked back at Ash with a smirk. “Please. She’s already left. She didn’t need your sacrifice to ditch you; it was gonna happen either way. Just face the music, dude.”_

_“No,” Ash whispered, obstinate despite the obvious agony they were in._

_Sou frowned darkly. Laura could tell that she was beginning to lose interest. Laura wanted very desperately to be with Ash in their final moments, but what their friend had said was true: if she didn’t leave now, it was likely that Sou would find her and kill her all the same. Still… to leave Ash like this, to die alone… Her stomach twisted and she dug her hand into the side of the cinderblock to steady herself._

_“Why are you… hah… killing us?” Ash breathed out after a pause. “I thought you wanted… prisoners.”_

_Sou waved a hand. “Yeah, turns out you guys are annoying and hard to catch. Junko came up with an alternate plan for that. With her little friend, too! But, haha, I’m not allowed to tell you about all that.”_

_“But…”_

_“No buts to it, dude. You’re pretty much already dead, as it is.”_

_There was nothing for it. Laura had to leave if she wanted to live. But she didn’t, of course, she wanted to be with Ash—but that wasn’t what Ash would want. Ash would want her alive and safe. Ash would want her to be okay. Laura’s eyes burned and suddenly she couldn’t breathe; she darted away from the corner, for no other reason if not to avoid distracting Sou with her crying._

_She ran for the car, straight for the driver’s seat—but hesitated before jumping in, frowning. She couldn’t be certain that the car still worked, and if it didn’t then the sound of the engine failing would alert her enemy. Glancing across the empty street, she saw Sou’s car relatively unscathed. Laura’s long hunt for revenge against the people who had killed her sister had taught her many skills; hotwiring a car was one of them. Not wanting to waste any time, she pulled out her switchblade and carved through the jeep’s tires before running to Sou’s car._

_Fear and anger made her fast. Within a few minutes the engine purred to life beneath her—she heard Sou cry out from the other end of the street and gunned it before Sou could pull her gun._

_She drove without thinking for several long hours. She followed the road, turning the car roughly and mechanically. During all that time her brain was on autopilot; she didn’t think or move but to steer. She didn’t care about where she was going or why. When she finally did come to her senses, she was surprised to find her face warm and sticky from tears._

_Abruptly the car began shuddering beneath her as she approached an upcoming curve. She was running out of gas. Feeling inexplicably unfazed by this development, she calmly steered the car to the side of the road where it jittered to a stop at a rocky plateau overlooking the horizon. She cut the ignition and leaned back in her seat, arms lowering. She found that she was shaking. She couldn’t bring herself to cry again._

_After what seemed like an eternity of just sitting there, she fiddled with the radio until she came upon Archie’s station. Dead static hissed back at her through the speakers; he wouldn’t be on air again until the evening. By now, Sou had likely found a way to give chase, and every second she spent sitting here was another that Sou gained. Laura needed to be rescued, or else Ash’s death would mean nothing._

_Ash’s death, which she hadn’t even seen. She had abandoned her friend in their final moments. The tears came back now, heavy and hard and unstoppable. The car was filled with the terrible agony of her sobs. Sometimes her sound would divulge into whimpers, only to rise again; a crescendo. The tears became a great taxation on her: she could only stop for a few moments before the thoughts overwhelmed her again._

_It must have been at least an hour before she recovered. By the end of this time she was lying on the front of the car, her back along the windshield. The sun was rising. Feeling composed, she pulled out her phone and dialed it with unsteady fingers. Few remaining places in this world had service, but by luck alone she happened to be in one of them._

_The dial tone sounded twice before someone answered. “Hello stranger, Rust here. I sure hope you’re not trying to trace my signal, ‘cause you’re gonna have an awful hard time with how well I’ve scattered it.”_

_“I’m not part of Junko’s army,” she responded immediately, voice coming out scratchy. “I’m… I’m one of Jae’s friends.”_

_“From the message boards?” She could hear the surprise in Archie’s voice. “Well, you better be careful. I can’t promise that someone unwanted isn’t listening in.”_

_“Your calls are tapped?” she asked._

_“I can’t say for sure. But you can never be too safe,” he said simply. Then, in that same tone: “You don’t sound well, friend.”_

_Laura’s throat closed up. She fought it valiantly, watching streams of gold flood over the edge of the horizon and illuminate the valley beneath her like a hidden jewel. “I need… Jae’s help. Can you pass a message to him for me? Tell him… Tell him it’s from Bottlenose.”_

_“Codename, eh?” he said. “I approve. What am I to tell him?”_

_Laura relayed her plea for help over the phone with a shaky voice. Archie took it all in stride, and before long the conversation was over. She didn’t move. She laid there for at least a few more hours, feeling empty, watching as the gold across the valley turned orange and pushed back the blue of night. She felt like begging Ash for forgiveness, begging for their understanding as the morning grew around her. It seems, without meaning to, that she had fulfilled Sou’s claims that she would leave her friend. Even if it was what Ash had wanted. Even that didn’t change the fact that she had left them alone._

_It was a beautiful morning. She thought that to herself as she heard the sound of a helicopter whirring above, and Enoch and Jae’s voices calling down to her._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            As usual I was quiet for a bit after the simulation ended, unable to stop myself from frowning at everything I’d just seen. Olivia was quiet beside me, her expression equally as thoughtful despite the fact that she’d already seen this before. After a lengthy pause I said, “So why is Laura trying to kill them now?”

            “Because of this third mastermind, I’d imagine,” she said. “If he’s the person who’s been talking to all the other students this far, it would follow that he talked to her, as well. It’s very possible that showing or explaining these images drove her to insanity.”

            “Seriously?” I said.

            She shrugged. “Sure. Forgetting an experience like this, and then having it all shown to you at once… the grief, or the pain, or the shock—or all of it—could have caused her to shut down. That’s what despair is, after all. Or a version of it, at least.”

            I nodded, thoughtful, then asked the question I’d been silently dreading. “So is there a way to save Ash?”

            She let out a big breath. “Yes. At least, I think so. I believe there might be a way to… as it were, override the requirement for Laura to kill them. Much like how you didn’t have to kill Nikita.”

            “But I thought that was because Nikita wasn’t real,” I said.

            “Well, yes, it was,” she murmured. “But if you remember, _you_ were planning on killing her. This third mastermind didn’t visit you and tell you to—you were going to do it on your own. Nikita managed to talk you out of it, but if she hadn’t you would have killed her. I think there might be something to say for that.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “If we could calm Laura and Ash down, and then try to jog their memories, I think we could produce the same effect.”

            I frowned. “I’m not following.”

            “The side effect of killing your tulpa is that you gain all of your memories back,” she said, leaning forward as though spurred by the intensity of her meaning. “What if we could trigger that effect _without_ killing the tulpa? That might be enough to allow both parties out of the prison. No one would have to die.”

            “Then why haven’t you tried this before?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

            “I’ve wanted to, but murders often happen before I can intervene,” she lamented. “I’ve no doubt it’s to do with this third mastermind of ours. But we’re ahead of the game on this one, so we have a chance to do some good here.”

            “Then let’s do it,” I said.

            After I’d exited from the darkness and back into the prison, Olivia appearing behind me, I said, “Hey… Don’t I have a simulation too?”

            She briefly looked a little uncomfortable, but the look passed so quickly that I hardly had time to register it. “Yes, you do,” she said. “We don’t have time right now, but I can show you later if you’d like.”

            “I would,” I said.

            I was going to turn to go, but she stopped me by speaking again. “Just… keep in mind, you know, it’s going to reveal some potentially uncomfortable things to you. About Nikita, and… other people, too. She’s your tulpa for a reason, after all.”

            “Yeah, I know,” I said. “That’s why I need to see it.”

            “I hate to interrupt this, but we do need to hurry up,” a voice boomed from above us, startling me. It had been so long since I’d last heard Monobear’s voice over the “intercoms” that I didn’t immediately realize it was Gam. As if to assuage my confusion, she huffed and said, “Laura’s getting close. At this rate she’s gonna beat you there.”

            “Shit,” I said. “Uh, thanks Gam.”

            “Yeah, yeah. Now hurry up before someone else comes down here and hears me.”

            Olivia nodded at me once. “Good luck.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            When I pushed open the door to the padded cell, I hadn’t been entirely sure of what to expect. I certainly hadn’t expected to see Laura pinned to the wall by Nikita’s staff, her eyes wide and ravenous, while Ash cowered in the corner. I didn’t pay it much mind, heading straight for Ash with my hand out. When I spoke, they at first didn’t seem sure of what to say, their expression dazed as though they’d just woken up from a long sleep.

            “You can… save me?” they said finally.

            I nodded. “We’ll have to bring Laura with us. Is that okay?”

            They glanced in Laura’s direction, eyes briefly narrowing, then back to me. “Why?”

            “We’re going to try and… break the rules, to put it simply,” I said. I waggled my proffered hand to remind them it was there. “I don’t know what Nikita has told you, but it would be a little difficult to explain things right now. Let’s head down the elevator and I’ll try to put things together down there.”

            “We’re going to go down the elevator?” They echoed, suddenly standing up as though spurred by this discovery. “But I thought you could only go down there once you’ve killed someone.”

            “The only thing stopping you is Monobear,” I said. “And she’s on our side, as it turns out.”

            “ _She_?”

            “Just—the elevator, okay? I’ll explain everything once we’re down there.”

            They nodded, following me to the door. Nikita watched my progress, craning her neck to look at me from the wall. “You wish for me to bring her with us?” she said, referring to Laura.

            I nodded. “We’ll need her for this to work. And… I mean, she’s not our enemy here. Not really. It’s the mastermind who fucked her up like that.”

            “I’m not _fucked up_ ,” Laura seethed at me, suddenly writhing again. “I-I know what I’m doing now. I can see _everything_ now. You wouldn’t understand because you’re a _liar,_ because you were tricked—by, by the other liar, by the _real_ liar.” Her eyes rolled in Nikita’s direction. “You were supposed to kill her, don’t you understand? Kill the ghost! Kill the ghost! Why can’t you understand?”

            “Wow,” I said.

            Nikita didn’t say anything, her fingers seeming to arc on the staff as she watched her.

            “Like all… all the codenames I’m beginning to remember from the war,” she said, continuing as though there hadn’t been an interruption. Her eyes shot back to me. “How can you not remember anything and yet think you’re right? That—that—that… _that’s_ insane, wh-what you’re doing. I remember so much, w-with what he did… He needs a name too, you know. Like Daemien, like Lilith—call him the Man Downstairs!” This struck her as so funny that she couldn’t even laugh at it, a sort of gasp escaping her as she squirmed against the wall, almost sobbing.

            I was about to say something, but Laura got her breath back and kept going. “Ash… Ash, please, you must understand that this is for you. You have to understand, I… I’m doing this for you… don’t you understand that?”

            “I… I don’t…” They wandered away from me, their hands coming up to their chest as they stared at Laura. Despite everything, there was nothing in their expression but concern for the girl they had once called friend.

            “Please…” she said, almost begging. Nikita turned to the side to watch Ash, eyebrows up. Laura half-raised a hand, then lowered it. “I can fix it. I… I can still fix it. That’s what he showed me, do you see? He showed me how to make it better.”

            “I want to help you, Laura,” they said, stepping closer. They put their hand out.

            Laura moved so fast that if I’d blinked I wouldn’t have seen what happened. Her hand shot out to grip Ash’s, yanking them to her. In the next instant my ears were filled with the hard sound of metal sticking; the strangled sound of Ash’s gasp. Nikita had seen what was happening and dropped her staff to rush the two of them, but she wasn’t quick enough. Ash fell backwards into Nikita’s arms, the gold glint of a blade protruding from their stomach.

            Now free, Laura fell forward, collapsing to the ground. She was breathing so heavily that I thought she might also be dying; she struggled forward on her hands to touch Ash’s knees, their eyes wide and dazed as they looked up at her. She shook as she leaned forward and whispered, “See, I made it better, see? I’m here. I’m here to be with you while you die, see? I didn’t leave you this time. It’s better now. I-I-I-I made it better.”

            Ash coughed and said, “I remember… the car…”

            Laura began sobbing. She offered no resistance as Nikita shoved her to the side and scrambled to her feet, hefting Ash in her arms. She immediately crossed the distance to me, where I stood stunned in the doorway.

            “We must fix this,” she said.

            “Fix it?” I all but yelled. “They—she stabbed them…”

            She leered forward, her sharp blue eye seeming to be all that existed in the world, her long black hair sweeping around my vision like a curtain.

            “Save Ash,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a lot of references in this one. 
> 
> Set the simulation in September, since that's Laura's favorite MLP song. 
> 
> Ash lives near Anaheim and has a yearly pass to Disneyland. Hence why I burned it to the ground. 
> 
> "Bottlenose" is shorthand for "Bottlenose Tophat", which is Laura's theme and also the nickname I use to refer to her when I need to talk about spoilers without spoiling anything. Many of the characters have codenames like this--Lilith, Daemien, and the Man Downstairs were also mentioned by Laura in this chapter. Yep, that's right, I'm making the codenames canon! I have a terrible amount of power and no one can stop me.
> 
> Also worth mentioning that all three of the codenames in this chapter come from some of General Mumble's music. Bottlenose comes from [Bottlenose Tophat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLVmaWXm_xU) and the other three come from [Downstairs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e12Bp4948pI).
> 
> BONUS KILLS  
> THIS UPDATE: 1 (+2 for the siblings and -1 because I didn't kill Archie)  
> TOTAL: 10


	25. 4.5 "Tuning the Orchestra"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gold blood  
> c-c-c-cold blood

Trial

            Nikita and I stared at each other for a painfully long moment. The air between us was cut and sliced by Ash’s ragged breath; by Laura’s strangled sobs as she shifted on the padded floor. Ash seemed like something empty in Nikita’s arms—too dazed to move and too stunned to speak. My jaw clenched as I stared at them.

            Finally our reverie was cut by the sound of Olivia’s voice, echoing through the stifled hallway. “Alright, don’t panic. Let’s keep it together. Bring the two of them down the elevator.”

            “But Ash is dying!” I protested.

            “Yeah. We’re changing the plan,” she responded. “Remember what I said earlier? Forcing their memories to come back isn’t the only idea I had.”

            “So there’s another way,” I said, not as a question.

            “There _might_ be,” she corrected me, voice sharp in the “speakers” of the simulation. “We can talk about it once we’re all together. I’ll wait for you guys at the bottom of the elevator.”

            Or her hologram would, more accurately. I wasn’t about to get into a conversation about specifics, though; I nodded at Nikita and turned to exit. She followed me, but halted a few steps out of the padded cell. “What about Laura?” she said.

            I glanced back toward the door of the cell, hung open and drooling with orange light. As I watched, the frame was eclipsed with the shadow of Laura shambling forward, her hand coming into view as she tightly gripped the doorframe. Her coat hung loosely from her elbows. The skin under her eyes burned red and she shook all over—but she seemed intent on following us.

            I shrugged at Nikita, then proceeded on.

            It was a long and careful walk to the elevator. Once I’d gotten down the ladder into the prison, I suspected Nikita would need my help with Ash, but was surprised to see her managing on her own, steadily alternating hands as she took careful steps down to the bottom. Somehow, Laura was slower. As we waited I stared at Ash, thinking them almost catatonic: their eyelids fluttered briefly on occasion, eyes rolling from side to side and seeing nothing. Their hand clutched spasmodically at their middle; not at the injury but just below it, blood pooling along the length of their arm.

            We found ourselves at the dark hole to the elevator not long after. Nikita and I quickly stepped on, but Laura hesitated, studying the metal riggings from the lip of the floor. I shifted uncomfortably for a long moment, then murmured, “Laura…”

            If she heard me, she gave no sign of it. Her expression didn’t flicker.

            “Woah,” A voice said from behind me. I turned to see Izzy standing at the curve of the hallway, clearly impressed by the scene her flashlight illuminated. Her eyes lighted on me. “Mads, what’s going on?”

            “I… we…” I glanced sidelong at Nikita, whose gaze was fixed on Laura.

            “You’re taking the elevator?” Her gaze shifted, seeing Ash. “You killed them…?”

            “No! No, but… Izzy, I can’t explain right now.”

            “Huh. You won’t get another chance to explain anything,” she said. “If you go down there.” It was too dark for me to see her very well. Her eyes were two black, shadowy holes in her face, the glare of her flashlight making the rest of the prison ever-darker.

            “You’re confused, Izzy,” I said. Laura wasn’t moving. “There’s no time right now, but I’m going to explain later.”

            She didn’t respond. Half turned, I saw Nikita shift Ash’s weight and reach out for Laura; her movements were quick and snappish, as if something sinister was hidden in them, but when she touched Laura’s shoulder it was slowly and with care. She guided her down into the elevator, and then the whole operation shuddered beneath us with movement.

            As we began to descend, the floor panels retracting overhead, I saw Izzy approach the edge and stare down at me. We stared at each other as long as we could, the panels swallowing up the light from above. Her hair and the darkness obscured her face. She didn’t say a word.

            A moment later, the panels closed and we were descending in total blackness. There seemed to be too much space around me, as though I were floating. I pulled out my flashlight and cast the shaky beam around us: I could see nothing but darkness in any direction. “Olivia?” I called out.

            “Don’t worry,” came the reply from above, murmured and echoing.

            Ash breathed suddenly in Nikita’s arms. The sound was rough and ended abruptly. “Nikita?” they said, a distant hint of something alien in their voice.

            “I am here,” came her response.

            “It’s dark,” they said back, voice raspy and rattling. “Where are we?”

            “The elevator.”

            “We’re going down? But I’m…”

            “We are going to save you.”

            “But I’m…”

            “It does not matter,” she murmured. “We will save you.”

            “No, no, but I’m… _scared_.” They breathed that jagged breath again and then fell silent. I looked over. Their eyes were closed and their body limp.

            Nikita shifted her arms around them. “There is still a heartbeat,” she murmured shortly.

            I didn’t say anything, swallowing.

            The elevator shuddered abruptly to a stop. The only indication that there was ground beneath us was a distant light, several hundred yards away from the elevator. It gleamed indistinctly and seemed to move. I took a tentative step onto the smooth black floor and, finding it solid, proceeded forward. Olivia was standing several yards off, watching us carefully. I hadn’t seen her at first—it seems as though she had materialized herself a few seconds ago.

            I walked over to her. “Alright,” I said, finding that my voice echoed strangely. “We’re here. What’s the plan?”

            Olivia’s expression was briefly pained, but she soon cleared it. “I have another idea we can try. But it’s not a very good one. I mean… it’ll have some consequences.”

            “Okay,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”

            She huffed, as though composing herself. “Technically speaking, because they’re already dead, the tulpas aren’t real. They’re even less real than Nikita and I. They’re just figments. A collection of thoughts and computer code. By that logic, they function the way Nikita and I do. Roughly speaking.”

            Olivia paused for a moment. “So?” I said.

            “So,” she murmured. “Haven’t you ever wondered what Nikita and I are made of?”

            I blinked at her. “I haven’t exactly had the time.”

            “Well, the answer—sort of—is memories,” she said. “Because we’re self-aware, you see. The only reason we can be here is because we’ve become aware of the fact that we’re not real; so we literally exist because of our memories. If we were to forget everything, we would cease to exist.”

            “But you can’t be made of memories,” I said, frowning at her. “They’re not something physical.”

            She sighed. “Yes, I know. I’m not _actually_ made of memories. I _am_ flesh and blood, in some sense or another. But I _survive_ off of memories. I wouldn’t exist without them.”

            “How did you figure all this out?”

            Her expression cleared, lips a thin line. “Junko’s notes. She did a lot of tests on herself when she first got to the real world, it seems. It’s sometimes hard to follow, especially because I haven’t—or can’t remember—trying any of this stuff for myself. But this is the information as I understand it.”

            “So the tulpas…?” I made a face, glancing to the side. This place made me nervous. “I’m not following.”

            “The tulpas function like I do, more or less,” she said. “So if we gave them memories… If we gave them enough memories, it’s possible that it would bring them back from the dead.”

            We were both quiet for a moment. “You have no idea how stupid that sounds,” I said.

            “Oh believe me, I do,” Olivia muttered, rubbing at her eyes. “But logically speaking, if you think it through, it _does_ make sense. They’re figments of something real, just like how I’m a character—a substitute of a real person. If you filled that thing with enough memories—the things that make people unique—then they would become their opposite. In other words a dead person would become alive, and a character would become self-aware. I mean, that’s the reason everyone gets their memories back after their tulpa dies. In a sense, metaphorical or otherwise, they become alive again. But by that point the tulpa is dead, so it doesn’t mean much for them.”

            “So you’re saying we could use memories to heal Ash?” I said, a little skeptical.

            She nodded, but her expression darkened. “More accurately, we could use memories to _resurrect_ Ash. This only has a chance of working because Laura already attacked them.”

            “Okay, I guess,” I said. “But I don’t see how this is going to work, exactly. You can’t just _give_ memories to someone.”

            “Not in the real world,” she corrected. “But in a simulation like this? Here, a memory transfer is a matter of pressing a button or two.”

            For once, it seemed, the prison was working in my favor. That was good news, at least. “Alright, cool. Let’s do it, then.”

            Olivia seemed to hesitate for a moment, glancing around me. Nikita had yet to put down Ash; she stood off to the side in irresolute silence. Laura still lingered on the elevator. “Hang on a minute,” Olivia muttered. “Like I said, this has consequences. We can’t just make memories. We have to take them from someone else. Like the tulpa’s student, for example. And when I say we need a lot of memories, what I really mean is that we need _all_ of them.”

            “So Laura…”

            “Would effectively be comatose,” she said. “We would have to take everything from her.”

            “So it’s still one life for another,” I said bitterly.

            “Unfortunately, yes,” she said. “But I didn’t come here just to bring you bad news. I think there’s a way around this. It’s still unpleasant, but… no one has to die.”

            I nodded at her to continue.

            “I think we could split up the memory transfer amongst everyone,” she said. “Take a little bit of memories from _every_ person instead of all of them from _one_ person. The catch is that I can’t really… customize the settings, as it were. I think Junko set it up to be like this on purpose. I can run the program so that the memory transfer happens, but I can’t control what those memories will be. They could be anything.”

            “So all of us are going to forget something, and we have no idea what,” I said, heart suddenly warm with despair.

            She grimaced. “Yes. _Except_ the people controlling the prison. That is, Gam and I. We won’t be affected. And…” she glanced to the side. “Considering Nikita’s memories weren’t wiped the first time around, I have a feeling that this wouldn’t affect her, either. Though I have no idea why.”

            I was quiet for a moment, considering this. “And I could…” Olivia hesitated, briefly. “I could keep it from taking your memories, as well. I can’t extend the same offer to Laura, because Ash is her tulpa, but…”

            I swallowed. “My memories wouldn’t make a difference?”

            “Not that I know of,” she said. “The program considers it to be within some sort of acceptable range, I guess.” She made a face. “This would be a lot easier if I had actually _designed_ this thing myself… But I suppose if that was the case, we wouldn’t even be here to begin with.”

            “I guess so,” I said dully.

            Olivia’s expression twisted further. “To be completely honest with you, I stumbled upon this function when I first started monitoring the prison. I think Junko anticipated that we would inevitably end up in a situation like this, and set this up on purpose. To trap us. So whatever memory the program takes is almost certainly going to be a big one.”

            “Should we even trust it, then?”

            “No,” she said flatly, then flicked her gaze back to me. “But none of us are about to let Ash die. So we have no choice.”

            I breathed out. She was right about that, at least. Feeling prepped, I turned to look over my shoulder. “Nikita?”

            She walked over, still carrying Ash.

            “How are they doing?” I asked.

            “I can still hear a heartbeat,” she said. “Though faint.”

            “Then we need to hurry,” I said before looking back to Olivia. “What do we do?”

            Olivia began walking towards the light at the end of the path, and we followed. “For safety’s sake, Gam is going to pick up Laura with her rig first. That way Laura won’t be able to intervene or try to kill them again.”

            “But doesn’t Laura need to be here for this to work?”

            She shook her head. “When I say the program will be taking memories from everyone, I do literally mean _everyone_. The entire planet, actually. In theory it’s the entire universe, though who knows if the distinction really matters.”

            I let out a shaky breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding. “This is some serious shit, isn’t it?”

            “Yeah,” she muttered. “I don’t want to sound rude about it, but the sooner that timer reaches zero, the better. This program isn’t something to mess around with.”

            As we approached the light, I got a better sense of what I was looking at. A tall, oval-shaped disk of light, grayish in color, hung in the air at the end of the walkway. It was two dimensional, about the size of a door, and seemed to have no substance to it whatsoever. It took me a minute to properly comprehend what I was looking at. It was strange and otherworldly, yet in the context of my already inhuman surroundings, seemed to make perfect sense.

            We were all quiet for a moment. Just as I was about to ask what we were waiting for, the surface of the disk of light flickered and warped until I could see Gam on the other side. She was standing in what looked to be a warm, but dirty, brown room, big pieces of machinery piled up behind her. It was a portal. The light was a portal. I almost laughed, this was all so surreal.

            “Kay,” Gam said gruffly, studying the silver-gray edges of the aperture. It sounded like she was talking through a wall. “All’s good on my end. Send ‘er through.”

            Laura had followed us at a distance, and was standing several feet back on the walkway. Olivia approached her slowly, attempting to maintain eye contact. My eyes flicked between the two of them and Ash. Laura didn’t say anything, still mute, and offered no resistance as Olivia took her hand and put her other arm around her shoulder, guiding her to the portal.

            It struck me that this was probably just as terrible for Laura as it was for Ash. Of course I’d already realized that, but it hadn’t occurred to me just how bad it really was. She must have been in shock. Why else would she be so mute, so still? Now that she’d completed the mastermind’s demands, her memories had returned. And all the pain with them. My stomach twisted.

            Laura stepped through the portal and was gone. For some reason I’d expected it to be more complicated than that—as though there would be some sort of fanfare, some disconnect between this reality and the other. But in actuality, all she had to do was step through. I saw Gam guide her to a chair and then step out of view. There was a pause, then the portal phased back to solid gray.

            “You watching us, Gam?” Olivia asked.

            “Yep. I’m yer eyes in the sky, or whatever. Ready to start when you are.”

            Olivia nodded, seemingly to herself. She looked at me. “Are we sure we want to do this?”

            “Yes,” I said. Nikita watched me and, presumably in agreement, said nothing. I was a little perturbed by her utter silence; she was being more quiet than usual. I figured it had to do with Ash—she seemed very serious about saving them, after all.

            Olivia was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll hook up the portal to my room in the mansion. We’ll bring Ash through that way. Once I’ve got it set up, just send them through and the program will activate itself.”

            She disappeared without another word. I blinked a few times, looking at Nikita. She glanced sideways at me, jaw clenched. Our gazes drifted down to Ash. They were unmoving in Nikita’s arms, eyes closed and shoulders slumped. Despite my desire to save them, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was doing something wrong. It was just because of the program, right? It had me on edge.

            The portal flickered, and soon I could see Olivia on the other side. The real Olivia, presumably. She was standing in a dimly-lit room, snow visible through the window behind her. I recalled how Olivia had apparently “stolen” Bree from Gam, and I couldn’t help but wonder how all of that had gone. Olivia looked up at me through the portal.

            “Okay,” she said. “Everything should be ready.”

            I hesitated. “Are you sure?”

            She nodded.

            I looked up at Nikita, then down at Ash. “I wish we could ask them about this.”

            “If they told you to let them die,” Olivia asked. “Would you?”

            “I… don’t know.”

            She was quiet for a moment. “I wouldn’t,” she said. “So maybe it’s better if we can’t ask them.”

            I nodded. Nikita looked at me, took a soft breath, and then stepped towards the portal. She paused about a foot away from it. The silver ringed her, slightly shorter than she was. She crouched slowly to lower Ash to the ground, still supporting their unconscious form with both hands. Olivia was standing on the other side, watching Nikita's movements carefully, her arms out.

            My heart pounded. Nikita released, and Ash fell forward. Their hair floated about their face and their arms hung loose at their sides. The light around their features seemed to get brighter as they fell through the aperture. Again, there was no fanfare. It felt like nothing had changed at all. Olivia caught them under their arms, bracing herself from the impact with a grunt. A long, deliberate breath left her. She pulled Ash through the rest of the way, propping them against the wall.

            Olivia straightened up and looked at me through the aperture. “I’ll get a pillow,” she said. Then she stepped to the side and the portal phased back to gray.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            It was Ash.

            The memory the program took was Ash.

            We didn’t figure it out immediately. For a long time, Nikita and I were simply standing there next to the closed portal, silent without the weight of our charge between us. I wanted to say something to her but I wasn’t sure what; she hadn’t taken her eyes off of the bright silver portal, her expression complacent and thoughtful. I felt strangely conflicted, as though twisted up by everything that was happening.

            Then Gam’s voice echoed over the intercoms. Hushed, as though whispering.

            “Olivia, are you there? Laura’s up.”

            “Yep,” came her reply. “What do you mean?”

            “I mean she’s up an’ walking around. She was sitting here totally immobile this whole time and then out of nowhere she got up an’ started lookin’ around like she had nothing to worry about.”

            “What is she doing now?”

            There was a pause. “Pokin’ at some of the equipment in my base,” Gam said. “She keeps thanking me for pulling her out of the simulation.”

            “Have you asked her how she’s doing?” I offered.

            “Yeah. Said she’s fine. She seemed confused about the question.”

            I hesitated, looking at Nikita. She looked at me. “Ask her about Ash,” I said.

            There was another pause, significantly longer this time. When Gam came back, she sighed at first, as though struggling to put words together. “She said… She said she doesn’t know who that is.”

            “I’ll be right back,” Olivia hissed into the intercoms. The rest of us waited in stunned silence for a number of minutes. It felt like I couldn’t move. I stood there, looking up at the perfect blackness above me, wondering if I could see Ash and Olivia and Gam and Laura and the real world through it. When Olivia returned, her voice was low. “Haley doesn’t know either. The program must have…”

            Her sentence didn’t need to be finished. “Holy shit,” I said.

            Nikita’s jaw was clenched so tightly that I thought her teeth might break. “A program capable of removing an entire person from the mind of another,” she managed. “This place must be destroyed.”

            I heard Olivia let out a huff. “I understand now. This must have been Junko’s plan.”

            “What do I do?” Gam asked.

            “Just… Just treat her like normal,” she said back. “We’ll figure all this out after Ash wakes up. They deserve to have some input, after all.”

            In the interim between then and now, I had somehow ended up from the portal downstairs to the bed in my cell, though however I’d managed such a journey eluded me. I laid with my arms over my head, staring at the ceiling. I kept replaying the events of the day over and over again in my mind. The simulation. Ash getting stabbed. The elevator. Izzy looking at me. The portal. Ash falling into Olivia’s arms.

            Everyone had forgotten them now. That was a hard concept to visualize in my head. Everyone knew who Ash was; everyone had talked about them fondly, as a friend. Now, if I said their name, all I would get back was blank stares. Their name meant nothing now. Their name was just an empty word now.

            Olivia had said the whole world. The _whole world_ had forgotten Ash. Everyone except Olivia and Gam—Nikita and I hardly counted, considering we weren’t even _in_ the real world yet. I wondered if any of Ash’s family had survived the war. How had their personal histories changed now? Did a mother forget their child? Ash was unhinged; completely disconnected from everyone else in the world, save for a meager handful of people. Ash was alone. I stared at the ceiling.

            “Are you okay?” A voice whispered to me suddenly. I recognized it as Olivia’s, and sat up.

            “You’re not sleeping,” she said.

            I glanced around in the dark, nervous. “Won’t Aaron hear you? There’s a hole in my wall…”

            “He… won’t hear me,” she said. “And anyway, he’s fast asleep.”

            I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of my cot. “Okay,” I said. “What’s up?”

            “I just… wanted to check on you, I guess,” she murmured back. I sensed something hesitant in her tone. “A lot has happened.”

            My eyes swept over the floor. “Yeah. How’s Ash?”

            “They’re up and at it,” she said. “They’ve stuck around me for the most part, though they seem eager to get acquainted with the mansion. They’re taking it well, but… eh, who knows what they’re hiding from me.” She was quiet for a moment, but when I didn’t say anything she continued. “It’s… it’s a little surreal, because they’ve got all their memories back now. So they remember everyone and everything, but no one remembers them. Even I’m a bit in the dark, because I don’t have my memories from the war. Who knows what sort of things they’ve remembered about me that I forgot?”

            “I’m not going to get my memories back,” I murmured. “Am I?”

            “No,” she said, sounding thoughtful. “I suppose you’d have to kill Nikita for that to happen.”

            I studied my hands in the darkness, eyes having adjusted long ago. “I’m worried about Ash,” I said.

            “Me too.”

            “I think,” I said. “I want to see my simulation.”

            “Okay.” Then, “Are you sure?”

            “Yes.”

            “I don’t think you’ll like it,” she said.

            “Yeah,” I sighed. “I figured. Let’s go.”

            I walked to the spare cells in silence, alone with the blue glow of my flashlight. For once, the prison didn’t feel cold or empty. Despite the darkness and the silence, I felt okay. I felt like I was in control. Olivia told me to stop in front of Jake’s door. I took a deep breath, straightened up, and walked through.

            When the lights came on, she was waiting for me in a clearing in thick woodland. Tall, dark trees ringed us on all sides, occasionally rustled by a warm wind. A campfire, unlit, sat in the center of the clearing in the company of some tents. A person was sitting there. Watching the embers. Nikita was standing next to him. I didn’t recognize him, but my heart was pounding in my ears. He wore a scarf like her arm band. Olivia was wearing a trench coat now, not her cloak; not the outfit I was used to. She watched me carefully, with half-lidded eyes, expression sunken into her grayed sockets, body turned away from me as I looked at the person and his campsite. Nikita was standing next to him. Olivia was watching me. The wind was warm, but suddenly I was cold again.

            “I’ll skip the formalities,” she said.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _Rain._

_The clouds meant rain._

_While they were walking earlier that day, Buck had kept glancing up at the sky, shielding his face with one hand to study the space above him. Nikita would pause and do so as well. She didn’t walk so much as move through the trees, matching the group’s march with a steady progression of branch to branch, a progression of distant physical movement between places as much as perceptions. Buck stopped, she stopped. He looked, she looked. He marched, she followed. The same, but different. One, but two. The crackle of forest pines under foot made music with the rustle of leaves, a prelude in time with fading sunlight, a bolero to appease the trees, a sonata to their effervescent hunter, a nocturne to bring the night in._

_Sunlight faded._

_Buck poked at fire embers. Nikita observed._

_Rain was coming._

_They never paused for long. A minute to rest their feet, at most. Ten seconds to scan the horizon. Never more. Silent biological clocks told them when time was up—then they proceeded, sunlight nipping at their heels, never faltering, always moving. The sun chased them steadily. The sun always beat them. It was a race impossible to win. They were running, but in mind instead of body. Their footsteps plodded slowly, but their minds screamed to go further, to go faster, now or never, before the sun eclipsed them, before they lost sight of the finish line. They were being chased. By the sun, but by something else too._

_One warm ember caught the edge of his stick. He coaxed the fire up; he prepared a log._

_Night time was always the worst. They couldn’t move during night time—it was too cold, too dark, too uncertain, the trees too full of wolves, the ground too full of vipers, the leaves crisscrossed with spider webs that only sunlight could illuminate. They had to wait. Any sound, any whisper or crackle was an enemy; when failing to attack, it was a reminder, a reminder that he was gaining on them._

_The fire was beginning to warm up. Buck put his hands out. Nikita stayed still._

_Buck was never alone. Sometimes Calise walked alongside him, her long black hair whisking out behind her like a cape, sometimes snagging in longer branches. It always took a pause to disentangle her; seven seconds at most, else she would rip it free out of fear of inconvenience. Sometimes Mads walked with him instead. They walked with their hands behind their back, often touching the hunting knife strapped to their belt. Often glancing behind them whenever Buck glanced forward, scanning the trees for a sign of their hunter. When Buck saw them do this, they looked down quickly._

_When the two walked together, Nikita walked alongside Buck. Elsewise she stayed behind, to the trees, following._

_Before they started running, Calise had talked about her family a lot. She had said it helped her cope with the loss. During marches, at campsites, at resistance bases, she would swap stories with strangers they met; sometimes on the road, sometimes during meals. Cold and tired refugees trading tragedies between bites. Then Mads came, then the forest came, then Jake. Calise didn’t talk about her family anymore. Every evening she would note the color of the sunset, red enough to near burn the retinas. Most of the time, she was quiet._

_While Buck had encouraged Calise to join them deliberately, Mads had at first been a happy accident. At first, it had been the opposite: Mads had been chasing after Jake, not the other way around. They wanted to save him, to cure him of his despair. They accumulated reports of his attacks, grilled AJ over the message boards for an account of his behavior, masqueraded through enemy bases in hope of information. They still held onto the belief that he could be saved. But now he was onto them, and they had no choice but to run._

_Distant thunder pealed the sky. The fire was now a respectable size._

_Buck huffed, sighed, rubbed his hands together. Nikita was still._

_There was no telling what Jake’s plans were. Didn’t he have instructions from Junko? Didn’t he have an army to lead? For the past month, he had devoted all his time to hunting Buck, Mads, and Calise through the woods. It was like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Maybe, after all this time, it didn’t._

_Calise was asleep in the tent. Her soft breaths impeded the evening melody at intervals. She kept going to bed earlier and earlier. She was tired of running._

_“It is going to rain,” Nikita said softly._

_Buck didn’t respond, shifting another log into the fire._

_“He will be here soon,” she said. “If not already.”_

_Silence. After a time, a raven broke free from a nearby copse of trees, loose feathers scattering blackspots across the horizon. Buck followed its progress with his eyes._

_“You know it’s true,” she said._

_“Well, maybe Mads is right,” he said in a quiet voice, so quiet that he hardly even spoke. “Maybe they can save him.”_

_“By speaking to him?” she said. “Words cannot overcome the addle Junko has him under.”_

_His jaw clenched._

_“He will slaughter them,” she said. “And then Calise. And then you.”_

_A group of branches nearby the clearing shuddered with movement._

_“For what reason have you ran this whole time,” she said, a little louder. “If you planned on letting him kill you without a fight?”_

_“I haven’t—” He rounded on her. The branches parted and Mads emerged with a bundle of firewood under their arm. He lowered his head, turning his eyes back to the fire._

_“Hey,” Mads said. They dropped the bundle on the ground next to the fire, looking up through the flames at him. “You alright?”_

_“Yeah,” he said. “Just watching the fire.”_

_“It looks plenty big now,” they said. They grinned at him hopefully. He returned, with effort, half of a smile. “Is Calise asleep?” they asked._

_“Yes,” he said. “Been so for a while now.”_

_Mads nodded. “I’m going to check on her.” They strode towards the tent, several feet off from the fire, passing Nikita on the way. They, of course, did not even register her existence. Halfway there they paused to look back. “Buck… are you sure you’re okay?”_

_He waved her off. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking. What the hell are you on my case for?”_

_“I just worry about you,” they said with a lopsided smile. Then they ducked into the tent._

_“You haven’t told them,” Nikita said._

_“Of course not,” he muttered. “I don’t want everyone panicked over how close he is.”_

_“He’s going to kill them,” she said._

_“Stop saying that,” he said._

_She let out a breath through her nose. He kept his eyes on the fire. “You could stop him,” she said._

_He didn’t respond immediately, breathing hitched. “Look, I… I can’t just…”_

_“You could,” she intoned. “You could, and you’re the only one who could. Calise is strong, but too soft. She would falter. Mads is dangerous, but they love him too much. You are impartial. You could save them. You could—”_

_“Stop it,” he snapped, then let out a breath. “Seriously.”_

_They were quiet for a long time. The sunset dipped away behind the mountains, behind the trees, and the sky blushed blue. Calise wasn’t there to comment on the color._

_“Mads has not come back,” Nikita observed. “Perhaps they fell asleep. Or were killed.”_

_“What, like Jake was hiding in the tent?” Buck snapped in a snide tone, but he shook all over when he said it._

_Before either of them could make another move, the trees rustled and Jake was there._

_He looked just as AJ had described him on the message boards; slacks, t-shirt, and a ripped white overshirt—now even more ripped. The only difference to him was a faded cream bandage wrapped under his hairline, presumably from the attack AJ had reportedly dealt him, and a shovel that he dragged behind his person, carving a line through the dirt. As he pulled branches out of his way, distant trees were visible: many had marks etched into the wood where they had been struck by his shovel. A way of keeping track._

_He let out a long, heavy breath. He smiled shakily. “Good. Where’s Mads, then?”_

_Buck stood up. “Fuck off,” he said. Nikita sighed._

_Jake laughed almost giddily. His grin encapsulated the whole of his tan, flushed features. He seemed ecstatic. “Come on, no need to hold out on me,” he said. “I’m your friend, right? Your spider friend. Or—” He buckled over, laughing and out of breath from exertion. “I’m sorry, I forget. Is AJ the spider, now? Or perhaps Junko? Maybe Momo. Ah…” He straightened up, making a show of wiping tears from his face. “I suppose we’re all getting fucked by some spider or another.” He smiled. “Or fucking them. Where’s Mads? I heard they wanted to reform me.”_

_“You’re not getting anywhere near them,” Buck snarled back._

_He blinked, eyes wide and expression affronted. “Why, do you not_ want _me to be reformed? Do you not_ trust _me? Or—better yet—do you not trust_ Mads _? Why, how cruel of you. You should at least give the two of us a chance to straighten things out.”_

_He grit his teeth. “I won’t let you get to them.”_

_“I suppose I’ll have to kill you then,” he said, sighing. “What an inconvenience. This would all be so much easier if you would work with me. Aren’t friends supposed to work with each other?”_

_Buck’s breathing had become all shuddery. His fingers clenched and unclenched. “Careful,” Nikita murmured._

_“If we’re friends,” he breathed. “Then you’ll give me a fighting chance.”_

_Jake’s eyebrow crept up. “I suppose you have a proposal, then?”_

_Buck raised his fists._

_Jake laughed. His teeth flashed brightly in his mouth. “Okay,” he said. He turned back into the woods without another word. Nikita looked at Buck. His jaw clenched and unclenched. He shook himself, then followed Jake. Nikita followed him._

_As they walked into the trees, it began to rain. Buck looked back at the campsite. Nikita looked back, too. The fire was high enough to burn unimpeded—but the rain was getting stronger. It would stutter eventually. Maybe the rain would seep into the tent; would wake Mads and Calise up and bring them shivering out into the starlight. Buck shook his head and looked away. Nikita looked away, too._

_Jake didn’t speak, running a hand in the vague direction of each mark in the trees they passed. Eventually he stopped in another, smaller clearing, where the land dipped and the trees clustered around an unassuming alcove of dirt. He turned to face Buck. “We’ll fight, then,” he said. “I’ll let you take the first swing.”_

_Buck watched him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s your gun?”_

_He huffed. “I don’t have one. I lost it several weeks ago, trying to find you in the dark.” He lowered his eyes, gaze level. “I was running from wolves. If I could have traveled at night, I would have caught up to you much sooner. Though—I suppose, if that were the case, you probably would have made it much farther. So it’s…” He paused himself with a breath. “A bit of a moot point.”_

_Buck stared at him. He laughed again. “Seriously, I don’t have a gun. Are we going to fight or not?”_

_“Shovel,” Nikita said._

_“What about your shovel?” Buck asked._

_He blinked. “What about it?”_

_“It’s not a fair fight if you have it,” he snarled back._

_Jake looked down at the object as though it hadn’t occurred to him until now. He held it at arm’s length. He had long arms. Long legs, too. Sinewy and strong—stocky, but all muscle. His shoulders rippled when he twisted his head from side to side. He tossed the shovel away, where it thunked against a tree._

_Buck lowered his head. He brought his fists up, chest heaving with a deep breath. Jake smiled._

_“Strike low,” Nikita murmured. “Get under him.”_

_He nodded. Jake’s grin widened, as though this were some sort of secret signal they shared. With one huff of a breath Buck barreled forward, feinting high only to strike low. Jake didn’t take the bait. He stepped to the side and brought his elbow down on Buck’s shoulder blades, driving the air out of him._

_Buck, however, was hardy. His constant marches through the forest, if nothing else, had assured this. He shook it off with a grunt and spun around to plow his fist into Jake’s jaw. Jake hissed, taking the brunt of it, then grabbed Buck’s next approaching fist and wrenched it to the side, making him wince._

_They traded blows like this for a while. Nikita stood to the side, in front of some trees at the crest of the incline. Her blue eyes flashed back and forth like pendulums, following the choreography of battle, tracing the action as the passage of time, each hit the pinprick of another second lost to an unseen metronome. The rain fell hard, and then harder. The dirt swirled into mud beneath their dancing feet. Sometimes, they fell over. The mud stained their faces. The mud clung to their clothes. Nikita’s eyes swung back and forth._

_Finally, Buck cornered Jake with several well-placed hits. They were closely matched, but a victory seemed imminent. Jake’s eyes flashed. Nikita said, “Careful,” but it was too late. He snatched his shovel from the tree at his feet and struck Buck full across the face with it._

_Buck staggered backwards in pain, hands clutching at his face. The rain pounded down all over him. His footing was uncertain in the thickening mud. Jake struck him again, and he fell. He dropped the shovel and descended on him, hands finding his neck, hands pushing him down into the cold, wet dirt._

_He writhed, Jake’s thumbs pressing down into his windpipe. His face was hidden in the mud. He groped the wet air with his hands. Jake was laughing. His thumbs pressed down harder, nails digging into flesh._

_Nikita said, “Shovel.”_

_His hand swung sideways and found the handle in the mud. With a single upward swing, Jake was knocked off of him. The clang reverberated in the air, sound dampened by the pounding rain. He stood up shakily, breathing hard and spitting out mud. Jake was sprawled backwards in the dirt and rain, struggling to find his feet._

_“Do it,” Nikita said._

_Buck looked up at her. Her expression was placid, but her eyes writhed with wild light. The rain didn’t let up._

_“Fine,” he said._

_“What?” Jake growled blearily, raising his head just in time to be struck in the face by the shovel. Blood swung away from his face, following the iron arc of the spade, and spattering over the mud. The rain quickly wiped it away. Jake let out a horrible, twisted grunt._

_Buck hit him again. The force of it sent him sprawling backwards, his cheek buried in the mud. He let out another noise, this one strangely surprised. Buck hit him again. The rain wiped away the blood, but it took longer this time._

_“Wait,” Jake gasped. He lifted himself up with his hands, the whole of his arms shaking. “Wait! Wait, please…”_

_Buck brought the shovel down again. Rain could get the blood out of the earth, but not out of the shovel: a thick line of red caked the iron on both sides._

_“Please, wait,” he repeated. “I think you—ahh—you literally knocked it into me. I-I-I can remember myself, I…” His eyes twisted up to Buck, wide white orbs shaking in the rain. “Please, it’s me Buck—it’s Jake! I’m—I’m not… I’m not Super High School Level Despair anymore. I…I can remember myself…”_

_“Liar,” Buck heaved. He brought the shovel down again. Lots of red this time, sinking into the trees, into the mud, into the night._

_“N-No, I’m not…” he sobbed wretchedly, unable to lift himself out of the mud, the pain too great. “Please, Buck, you ha-ha-have to believe me. I’m so sorry, I… Please, I’m so sorry. What have I done?”_

_Again._

_“I’m so sorry…”_

_Again._

_“What have I… what…”_

_Again._

_“What…”_

_“Again,” Nikita said._

_He went still, his body rolling wetly when the shovel hit it. The rain wouldn’t stop. Buck held the shovel loosely in his arms, his eyes wide and gleaming. His breath came in big, heavy heaves that shuddered through his whole frame. His mouth was open, his teeth speckled with dirt. Jake lay unmoving, his face buried in the mud. There was too much red for the rain to wipe away._

_“They’re safe now,” Nikita said. “Mads is safe.”_

_“Buck!” A voice called through the trees. “Buck, can you hear me? Are you okay?” It was them. Buck’s shudders became convulsions, the shovel a lightning rod, the shovel a conductor’s baton to the nocturne of his unholy victory._

_“Where are you?”_

_Nikita stared. Blood spattered in an arc on the tree behind her. She was quiet, eyes half-lidded. The rain wouldn’t stop._

_Mads found the clearing. The noise drew them. Mads was wet and shivering in the rain, teeth chattering against the weight of the unknown. Mads started screaming._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            “I could see her.”

            I said this after a long pause. It must have been a few minutes that we sat there after the simulation ended, completely silent. “I could see her,” I said. “But the me in the simulation couldn’t.”

            Olivia nodded and said a little hoarsely, “I don’t know why. You would think, if she was an imaginary friend, that no one but Buck would be able to see her in _any_ situation. And yet the simulation shows her as clear as anyone else. Like I said, I really don’t understand her. I’m going to figure it out eventually.”

            We were quiet again for a long while.

            “I was their friend,” I said finally. “Buck’s. And Jake’s. Both of them were my friends. I… I must have cared about them quite a lot. But… I can’t remember…”

            Olivia nodded. “Records show that you were very close with both of them.”

            “It was Nikita’s idea to kill Jake,” I mumbled absently. “Instead of letting me try to save him. It was Nikita’s idea. That’s why she’s my tulpa. But how did she…?”

            “Die?” she asked. “When Junko captured us, she wiped all our memories of the war. Buck forgot about her coming back. That was the same thing as killing her, in a sense. Because of the memory thing, you know. But because she’s self-aware, she should have been able to come back to life of her own accord. Again… she’s a very strange case.”

            I frowned at her. I looked down at my lap. I rubbed my hands together. “I can’t remember any of it.”

            “I know,” she said.

            “Do you…? You said you forgot things.”

            She nodded. “I did. Junko took all of it from me. All but my name and title—which was a lie anyway.”

            “Yeah,” I said. I swallowed, jaw tight.

            “He wanted to save you,” she murmured. “Buck did. He’s very… he’s worried about how you’ll feel.”

            “I’m okay,” I said.

            She was watching me carefully.

            “I just… I wish I could remember,” I said.

            “I used to feel the same way,” she said. “Now I only worry about the prison.”

            “Huh.” I rubbed at my eyes. “I can… I can see why someone would be tempted to kill their tulpa.”

            Olivia put her hand on my shoulder. I looked up at her. She smiled at me, lips strained in a tight line, her dark and tired eyes pulled up in a look that was almost painful. Then she turned the lights out.

            I walked back to my cell in silence. I felt tired now. I also felt ready. I could help.

            I found myself taking a detour to Nikita’s cell. I stopped outside it, staring at the heavy metal door. No sound or light emerged from within; no hint of what to expect. I raised my hand and touched my knuckles against the metal, very softly. I couldn’t bring myself to knock. As far as she was aware, I didn’t know what she had done. As far as she was aware, I would never know. Maybe it would be better to keep it that way.

            I returned to my cell to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some backstory. When I wrote the first draft of Re_dux, I wrote it for NaNoWriMo 2014. I didn't finish it, obviously, because that was a video game draft and not a story draft. But irregardless, I definitely got caught up in the NaNo spirit while writing. There's a tradition in the NaNo community called the Travelling Shovel of Death. It's a bonus challenge: somewhere within your 50,000 words, someone needs to get killed by a shovel. Doesn't matter when, doesn't matter how, just needs to happen. Eager to meet demands--and definitely in need of a lot of different character deaths--I decided to throw the shovel into Re_dux. As time went on it actually became something like Jake's signature weapon; this shovel which is inevitably turned against him. Even after I failed to finish NaNoWriMo, the shovel stayed. It carried too much sentimental meaning and importance to abandon. 
> 
> This simulation was probably the most difficult to write. Maybe I'll take that back after writing future ones, but as this stands this one was very difficult.  
> The problem was POV. Traditionally the simulations are from the student's POV, but we've spent this whole story from Mads' POV so that didn't really strike me as a good idea. Plus, Mads isn't present for most of the action in this simulation. So the obvious other choice is the tulpa: Nikita. That was the end of the discussion up until it came time to write it.  
> It struck me as profoundly strange and perverse to enter Nikita's POV. I couldn't do it.  
> As I wrote, I reached a compromise. The narrative in the simulation is more or less in third person limited, but you could make a very fair and logical argument that it's actually from Buck AND Nikita's POV _simultaneously_. It lets us get into Nikita's head but not _really_ , and it supports the idea of her being Buck's imaginary friend. Two POVs at once. How's that for some weird literature.


	26. 5.1 "Threnody"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And all the ghosts are singing:  
> Taking my tears, and filling their cups up.  
> Rolling in the sky,  
> One record at a time,  
> Wo-o-ow.  
> Only way to feel is wow.

CHAPTER FIVE: The Part Where She Kills You

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<ASH>

}

            What is the value of a memory? Is it worth losing all you love? Is it worth going through innumerable pain? Is it worth gold and riches—and if so, how much? Lately, I find myself wondering about all this. If I could take all the memories that were given to me, all the cherished thoughts and ideas, and make them physical… what price tag would they carry? What would someone pay me for all that treasured history?

            And even if I _could_ do all that, would I really be okay with it? I don’t think any person has the right to take such a precious thing from another. If I could go back to before all this happened, I would do everything in my power to change its course. I don’t hate Olivia and the others for what they did to me, but I wonder what they think about it, too. Does Olivia believe she did the right thing? Or does she harbor regrets for stealing thoughtlessly from others?

            I had already died. Some might say that I was fated to stay dead. Yet with the simple push of a button, Olivia and the others changed the entire course of my fate. They transformed my life into something it had never before been, and perhaps was never meant _to_ be. Death had taken me once, but now death has been cheated of its prize; I have become something that never should have been possible.

            I believe every person deserves the chance to decide their own fate. Even if their decision is to die, or fade away, or give themselves up for another. Even in cases like that, it is still that person’s choice—because all the precious memories we have, all the beloved thoughts and experiences that we hold dear, shape who we are. And without them, we are less than our whole. What can we call ourselves but a facsimile, something only pretending to be something greater than what it once was?

            The whole world has forgotten me. I haven’t forgotten them. That means I am still myself—but they aren’t.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            “I still don’t see how any of this translates into what you were telling Mads last night.”

            “That’s probably because it doesn’t,” Olivia said, leaning across the counter to look at the files over Gam’s shoulder. The window was open, letting cool, wintry air spill into the dusty kitchen. Her finger hit the page with an audible _pap_. “See, with the way this is written, Junko definitely figured _something_ out. She keeps hinting at it throughout the documents. That’s what I was talking to Mads about.”

            “But…” Gam narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You told ‘em that Junko had figured out _rules_. Like, regulations for how unreality works.”

            “Yes, it was a bit of an overstatement,” she admitted. “It was a lot of information, and I didn’t want to overwhelm Mads, so I simplified it.”

            “So there are no rules,” Gam said.

            “There are no rules,” she said.

            “But…”

            Olivia swept her hand away as though sweeping Gam’s concerns out of the room. “There are rules in the _prison._ Junko set it up that way. Which, in the end, is the _real_ reason the place is so dangerous. You can’t give rules to something that isn’t real! That defeats the whole purpose.”

            “So to clarify,” she said, frowning down at the files. “Junko’s fucked not only with us, but also with the entire natural order, by making this prison.”

            “More or less,” she muttered. “She’s made a world that can bring the dead back to life and gives rules to unreality. It’s ridiculous and dangerous.”

            “Like midi-chlorians,” Gam said with a grin.

            “What?”

            “From _Star Wars_ ,” she said, straightening up from the counter. “The damn prequels tried to explain the Force. Which is stupid. ‘S half the reason everyone hates the prequels so much, I figure. Makin’ something like that canon is just _unnatural_.”

             Olivia’s expression shifted from surprise to something sheepish, almost like embarrassment—but not quite. “I… wouldn’t know anything about that.”

            “Oh, right,” Gam said, blinking. “Cause you got your memories wiped, or whatever. Well—shit, I’m sure you saw _Star Wars_ before all that. Wonder if there’s any TVs around here. We can all have a big group viewin’ party. Like we’re all _friends_ or something, eheheh.”

            “Is it _that_ good?” she asked, eyebrow arching upwards.

            Gam shrugged. “Eh, it’s pretty good. Lotta people out there seemed to think it was worth all the fanfare, at any rate. I’m more of a video game person, myself. I can show you some real gems in that department.”

            “Like Dangan Ronpa?” she asked, almost cautiously.

            “Sure,” she said. “Got plenty of stuff like that. And, uh—plenty that isn’t, too.”

            “I like stories,” Olivia said. There was something impossible to place in her tone.

            Gam studied her for a moment. “Me too,” she said. The reality of the situation seemed to have caught up to the two of them; they were quiet for a long moment, staring at each other with Junko’s files sitting on the kitchen island between them. Dust flecked the half-lit air that swirled around the room. Something outside slipped—or perhaps melted—and a clump of ice fell from the roof and clattered to the ground outside the window. Gam jumped, fingers twitching as she half-lunged away from the offending sound.

            “Yeesh,” she grunted as she composed herself. “Fuckin’ spook house.”

            Olivia grinned, placid. “It’s not that bad. I like it here.”

            “It’s whatever, I guess,” she said, scratching her arm. “Better when there’s more people around. I don’t know how you can stand being alone in that tower all the damn time. Where the hell is everyone, anyway?”

            “Around, I suppose. They always find things to do.”

            “Huh.”

            “You’re alone too,” Olivia pointed out. “At your base. And from what I’ve seen, that place is at _least_ as dusty as it is here.”

            “I’m not… _exactly_ alone,” Gam said, grinning a little wryly.

            “Is this your ‘surprise’ talking again?” she asked.

            Gam’s grin widened. “Sure is. But it’s… well, it’s not ready yet. I’ll have to show you later.”

            “Better be soon,” she muttered. “There’s less than a day left on the timer.”

            “Yeah, but _you’re_ not going anywhere,” she said, waving her hand. “And trust me, this surprise is worth the wait. You’re gonna love it.”

            “I’ll take your word for it,” Olivia said.

            Again, they were quiet for a long moment. But then Gam’s half-giddy countenance seemed to falter and she lowered her shoulders, casting her eyes all around the kitchen from beneath her hood. She shifted to lean back on the island, hips swiveling away from Olivia. It seemed to be a rather closed position, as though announcing her guarded demeanor. “So… we should probably talk about Caehl,” she said.

            Olivia watched her with careful eyes. “Yes. It’s… a good sign that we saved Ash.”

            “Yeah, but I don’t want to _stab_ Caehl,” she said a little sharply. “Nor do I want to _forget_ her. So I’d prefer it if we could avoid any of that shit.”

            “Well, you aren’t going crazy like Laura was,” Olivia said with a sigh. “So that’s certainly a step in the right direction. It’s possible that maybe we could… _talk_ Caehl out of the prison.”

            “You mean force her memories to come back,” Gam said flatly. “Like you’d wanted to try with Ash.”

            Olivia nodded.

            She shifted again, crossing her arms in a fidgety manner. “Is that even _possible_?”

            Olivia nodded at Junko’s files. “Nothing says that it _isn’t_. But I can’t guarantee that it’ll work.”

            “So I have to go into the prison and try to bring Caehl’s memories back. And if that fails,” Gam huffed. “Then I have to fuckin’ shank her and hope for the best. Is that right?”

            “That’s one way of putting it,” the other mastermind murmured.

            “No time to lose, then,” she said darkly.

            “Well… hang on,” Olivia said, moving to step closer and then seeming to think better of it. “I wanted to see your base first.”

            “But the surprise is there,” Gam protested.

            “It takes up the _whole house_?” she said.

            “Well, no, but…” she huffed. “Jeez, alright, fine. I just don’t want to get your whole crew involved, ya dig? I mean, _our_ whole crew. We’re a bunch of cool kids and all, but I don’t want to cram a bunch of people in the same room and have ‘em all talkin’ at once. Maybe one of ‘em would bump into the equipment or something—then we’d _really_ be fucked.”

            Olivia snickered. “I understand. It’ll just be me, don’t worry.”

            “Cool. Let’s go, then.”

            Arms loose at her sides, Gam strode briskly towards the kitchen doors. The floor shook under her footsteps. Olivia didn’t move, standing still next to the island with her hands in her trench coat pockets. She was watching Gam carefully. Her expression was hidden away by Gam’s long shadow in the doorway.

            “Hey, Gam…”

            “Huh?”

            “What was I like? Before the war, I mean.”

            “Oh, well…” Gam’s eyes narrowed. “You were real talkative. Still are, I think. I’d be all like, ‘Hey Olivia, gender isn’t real!’ and you’d say, ‘As a character from a story, I have no idea why you would feel that’s a statement that needs to be said out loud because what the fuck even _is_ a gender anyway, right? I was written to be a girl so I’m just goin’ with it, you know?’ Actually, you never said that last bit, but I always thought it’s what you’d meant. Most of the time you’d just go on rants about, like, narrative structure and shit? Somehow you always connected it to my thing on gender but I didn’t always follow.” She lowered her previously-gesticulating hands. “Okay, that one got a bit away from me, admittedly.”

            A light laugh floated across the room. “No, what I meant was…” Olivia hesitated. “Well, it doesn’t matter much. Let’s go see this base of yours.”

            “Whatever you say,” Gam said. “I’ll be waiting outside.” She whisked through the doorway and was gone in a blur of her dark cloak.

            Olivia did not follow immediately, standing where Gam had left her in the deep of the kitchen. Her hands settled further into her pockets and a long breath escaped her. When she finally did exit the room, it was just as quickly as Gam had—but unlike Gam, she chanced to turn her head to the left, and in doing so immediately saw me crouching beneath the dining room partition.

            “Oh—Ash?” she said, stopping dead in her tracks.

            “I…” I stood slowly, uncurling my fingers from where they had gripped the counter and straightening my legs carefully, limbs stiff from crouching for so long. She watched me all the while. I ran a hand through my hair and glanced away. “Uh, hi Olivia.”

            She looked to the kitchen, then back to me, expression oddly bemused. “Were you spying on us?”

            “Well um,” a hand drifted to my mouth. “I mean… yes.”

            To my surprise, she actually laughed a little. She almost looked _impressed_. “I didn’t even hear you. Good job. You didn’t need to go to all the trouble, though. You could have just joined the conversation if you wanted to.”

            “I guess that… didn’t really occur to me,” I said after a beat.

            Her gaze shifted as she studied me. “Are you doing alright? It’s been a little while since we last talked.”

            My eyebrows creased together of their own accord. She kept asking me that. Every chance she got. “I’m doing fine, I think,” I said.

            Truth be told, I didn’t resent her treatment of me at all—quite the contrary, in fact. I was actually beginning to worry that she was paying more attention to me than everyone else in the prison. Weren’t there other people that still needed saving? Sure, everyone had forgotten about me, but… what about the other prisoners? Didn’t that matter too?

            It was clear by her expression that Olivia was having trouble believing me. She was quiet for a moment, looking away, then her eyes flicked back to me and she said, “I told the others what we agreed on. They seem to have bought it, but… It’s not too late to change your mind, you know. We could tell them the truth.”

            I resisted the urge to grimace. A little while after I had woken up in the real world, Olivia had asked me what I wanted to do about my newfound memory problem. My options were limited, of course—what it came down to was that I could either tell everyone the truth and hope for the best, or inform all of them that I was, indeed, a stranger, and come up with a lie for what I was doing here.

            To what I can only assume was Olivia’s great surprise, I chose the second option. To me, it seemed like telling the truth would do nothing but cause problems. In this situation, it was easier to hide: so I would be a stranger to them. I was a person named Ash who Olivia had found wandering the mountains; I was staying here for an undefined period of time in order to take refuge from the cold weather.

            “I really don’t want to tell them the truth,” I told Olivia, shaking my head.

            “They would understand,” she assured me. “I know that’s hard to believe. And it wouldn’t be easy for them. But they _would_ understand, eventually. Most of them had to deal with finding out that I wasn’t real, after all. They’re used to weird surprises.”

            I hesitated for a moment, then shook my head again. “No, it… just wouldn’t work that way. Trying to tell someone something this big, this serious… it’s too much. It would alienate all of them. They would start feeling awkward and uncomfortable around me. If all of them think I’m just a refugee, then it’s different. There’s nothing they need to be worried about.”

            She stared at me despairingly for a moment, then said, “I suppose you’ve got a point. It’s your life, at any rate. I’ll trust your judgement.”

            I gave her a grateful smile. Eager for a subject change, I said, “So you’re going to go see Gam’s base?”

            She nodded, then seemed to catch herself. “I’ll only be gone for a little while. It’s just a short trek up the nearby hill, I’ve been told. Actually—I could ask Gam to let you come, if you want.”

            “You already promised her you’d be going alone,” I said, eyes drifting towards the kitchen.

            “Right,” she said. “I suppose I did. But that doesn’t mean I should abandon you here.” I hesitated. “Come on,” she said. “Gam remembers you too! There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to come along.”

            I waved her away. “I’ll be fine, I promise. I want to explore more of the mansion, anyway.”

            “I would think you’d have mapped out the whole thing by this point,” she said with a small grin.

            “I have, actually!” I said. “Well, most of it. I still need to draw the layout of the turret. It’s in my sketchbook.”

            “Huh.” Olivia blinked appreciatively. “You’ll have to show me that later. You sure you want me to leave you alone here?”

            “I’m not alone,” I said. “Everyone else is around.”

            “They don’t remember you, though.”

            I shrugged. “I’ll be okay.”

            She frowned at me for a moment, then finally conceded with a sigh. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll be back soon. Try not to break anything or drive anyone too crazy.”

            “You got it,” I said.

            I watched her exit the dining room in silence, fidgeting a bit with my hands folded in front of me. The mansion was quiet save for the occasional bird call that drifted through the open kitchen windows. I let out a breath. Despite how very lonely I had felt since waking up, I almost appreciated a bit of time on my own. It probably wouldn’t be fun talking to the others. But at the very least it would give me some time to think.

            Setting off, I meandered as I considered possible destinations. The mansion was three stories, though the tower was an extra two high. The first floor held the kitchen, dining room, foyer, living room, ballroom, and a few bathrooms. There was even a number of exits leading to a wide wooden patio along the side of the building. Upstairs, on the second floor, lay several bedrooms—as well as the great hall that doubled as the mansion’s library. The third floor had a tea room, a study, and then another long list of bedrooms. The tower, for the most part, was nothing but stairs—but on the fourth floor it let out to the work room that Olivia had all of her simulation equipment set up in. At the top of the tower was a turret, open to the sky.

            I figured I might as well head to the great hall—that’s where most people seemed to be at any given time of day. As I made my way up the staircase, I found that my chest was tightening further and further with each consecutive step. My expression twisted and I paused halfway up, hand on my stomach. I hadn’t talked to anyone but Olivia and Gam since I’d gotten out. It had been easy to avoid the others—I’d exited the prison late at night, after all, so it only made sense for me to go to sleep. Now it was morning. If I put it off much longer, Olivia would become even more suspicious of me than she already was.

            Again, I didn’t mind her help. But I needed to make sure she knew that I could handle myself. If I let myself spiral, I could easily see her neglecting the prison in her determination to help me. I didn’t want that to happen, so I would have to take care of my problems by myself. I didn’t have any delusions about it—it was going to be very hard and very strenuous—but I could handle it. I _had_ to. Right?

            But I could remember so much… And they couldn’t.

            No. It was better if I didn’t think about it. All I had to do was block it out.

            Keeping a firm grip on the banister, I summoned my resolve and finished the ascent. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I could easily hear conversation coming from the great hall. It sounded like there was a good number of people in there. Steeling myself, I went through the doors.

            “…And for the record, no. Go fish.”

            “What, are you serious? You’ve gotta be cheating.”

            “Okay Buck, you’ve officially accused every person in this game of cheating. I’m starting to think _you’re_ cheating.”

            “If I was cheating,” he sneered over the top of his cards. “Why would I be _losing_?”

            Buck, Calise, Haley, and Bree were all gathered around a small table in the far right corner of the hall. The long, snow-white shards of light pouring in from the windows cloaked them in grayscale and shot glare into my eyes. I approached slowly.

             “I don’t think he’s cheating,” Haley said.

            “The numbers don’t add up,” Bree muttered. “ _Someone_ is cheating.”

            “Oh my god, why do you suddenly care!” Buck cried, throwing his hands up, cards and all. “I’ve said someone is cheating for the past _eight rounds_ and no one’s given a shit until now.”

            “It’s just Go Fish,” Calise said.

            “Yeah, it’s ‘just Go Fish’ until one of us turns out to be a _filthy liar_ ,” he snarled.

            I walked up behind Haley and Calise, movements slow and cautious. As I did so, Bree held a card up. “It’s my turn, and there’s only 10 pairs left,” she said. “We should be able to narrow it down over the next few rounds.”

            “And if we can’t?” Buck said.

            “I don’t know!” She frowned at him. “We stop playing? Calise has a point, it _is_ just Go Fish.”

            “I’m getting pretty tired myself,” Haley sighed. “We’ve been at this for a while. Maybe we should switch games.”

            “Old Maid?” Calise asked.

            “We already played Old Maid today,” Buck said.

            “I wasn’t here,” she muttered.

            “Yeah, that was when Neil was still playing,” Bree grumbled. “He was winning every game, so we stopped.”

            “Well he’s gone now, so…”

            Haley frowned at Calise. “I don’t want to play Old Maid again. How about BS?”

            “We’ve literally been talking about cheating this whole time,” Buck snarled. “You want us to play a game _constructed_ around the concept of cheating?”

            Bree waved her card around again. “Can we just finish this hand first?”

            “Uh, hey guys,” I said, finding my voice.

            Haley turned her head to look at me. “Oh, hey. Ash, right? Olivia told us about you.”

            “Do you want to join our game?” Calise asked.

            “Yeah, we can deal you in for the next one,” Bree said before her eyes narrowed. “ _Whatever_ we play.”

            “Um,” I said.

            Buck shrugged, his surly expression still stuck on the cards in his hand. “Yeah, I guess we could use some fresh blood in here or whatever.”

            “I’m not sure what we can play with five people, though,” Haley said with a frown.

            “We’ll just figure it out after this game,” Bree said. Her gaze turned to Buck. “Got any Kings?”

            “No,” he said. “Eat my ass.”

            In the late winter months I sat on my bed with my laptop over the blankets, playing Dungeons and Dragons with some of the others across Skype. I couldn’t remember the exact date, which wasn’t surprising. December, I think, probably a Saturday. Before the war, of course. Haley’s character liked to lose herself in bars and taverns, and time and time again mine would find a way to pull her out. Aaron sneered endless annals of sarcasm through the mouth of a twelve-year-old racist. Of all things. Tristan was there too, as a mermaid. Why did that seem funny now? I remembered…

            “Got any aces?” Buck asked Haley from across the table.

            I remembered Haley telling me over Facebook about the other characters she’d made with Buck. They had a whole theme going, involving Cthulhu. Bree wasn’t always around, but she liked to tell stories of the campaigns she and Dexter were in. We always talked about getting them involved—at least before the war started.

            “Yeah,” she said flatly, handing it over.

            And Calise wasn’t there either, but she drew _everything_. Everything from notebook sketches to pastel digitals trapped amidst the circuit board folds of a years-old Facebook feed. Modern elegants with soft faces and gentle eyes, colors that swam together through the strains of history. Technological interconnections, space and distance sliced by the progress of industry and the fact that we just happened to be born at _that_ time, that we just happened to check _that_ page in _that_ moment. Neil wasn’t always there, but he was known for drifting and we were okay with that. He didn’t live all that far from me. I never got a chance to visit.

            “Bree? Any fours?” Buck tried.

            Zach played Dungeons and Dragons with us too. He played a wizard who was also a tailor; between the pits he summoned he gathered lace and thread for dresses. One of the characters lost an eye, but it wasn’t him—that was Tristan. Gigi would guest star, playing a whole slew of characters. Jae was there, too. Once, my character stole a cat.

            “Yes,” she seethed.

            Laura was there. Our characters were friends. We were friends. We were…

            Confidence abound, Buck then rounded on Calise. “Queens?” he asked.

            I watched as she ran her thumb down the Queen of Diamonds in her hand. “No,” she said. “Sorry. Go fish.”

            He conceded with a grumble.

            My skin had gone cold. Hadn’t I told myself I wouldn’t do this? That I wouldn’t think about it? And yet, when it started, it was like I couldn’t fight it. Like I didn’t even _want_ to. I remembered Laura and I stargazing one night, back before we knew who most of these people were, and I was quite certain that at least half the spread of bright white dots above us _had_ to have been the Big Dipper. I remembered Haley studying deer in her free time, speaking of _Cervidae_ through grins that were more seen than heard. I remembered Max moving around a lot, a presence often only felt… I remembered Gam’s constant posts about video games… I remembered Olivia muttering over Skype that one day, _one of these days_ , she was going to visit… I remembered… I remembered…

            “Well, whatever. It hardly matters.” Bree looked up at me. “Do you have any preferences for what we should play, Ash?”

            I had drifted. I’d missed part of their conversation. I stared at her. Her question, her gaze, her faded hoodie, the way her fingers drifted over the cards, the softness of her expression—all of her was lightyears away from me, and yet I’d never before been as close to a person as I was to her in that moment. I stepped back, legs moving on their own.

            “I… I, um… Thank you for the offer, but I… there’s things I should probably do instead. I’ll—I’ll play with you guys some… other time…”

            I was to the other end of the room by the time I’d choked this out. Their protests sounded dull in my ears, muffled and distorted as if the soundwaves had been beaten and warped. Rather than opening the door I pushed past it. I needed air. I couldn’t breathe. It looked like the bright light from the windows was chasing me out of the threshold—the door closed before it could catch up. I stood there and stared at it, hands clenching and unclenching on their own.

            “Are you okay?” a voice asked me.

            I looked up. Laura was standing there, at the foot of the staircase.

            “I…”

            She blinked, eyes shifting towards the door from behind her glasses. “Is something going on in there? Apologies, if so. We can get a little, well, rowdy sometimes.”

            “No, no, it was just…” I folded my hands together to stop them from shaking. “They’re just playing cards.”

            “Oh. Okay,” she said. She ran a hand through her hair. “Sorry, you’re… Ash, right? My memory’s a little scattered. I just went through this whole… well, it’s a long story, but the point is that it’s got me exhausted. I know Olivia told me about you, but it’s fuzzy.”

            “Yes, I’m Ash,” I said. “It’s fine, I—Well, I wouldn’t expect anyone to remember.”

            Her expression softened at that. “Oh, there’s no need to think that way. I know we all seem like a very close bunch, but we love to make new friends. It doesn’t matter if you’re a stranger or not.”

            “That’s…” I looked down. There was no point in trying to discuss it. “Thank you,” I said flatly.

            She nodded. I felt so cold that the rest of the room seemed disconnected from me; she might as well have been talking to herself. “Did you, um, need anything?” she asked.

            “No,” I mumbled, heading towards the staircase even though that forced me to move closer to her. She stood only a foot away from me at the landing. I gripped the banister as if it were a weapon with which I could defend myself. “Thanks for the offer,” I managed. Then I raced down the stairs before she could respond.

            Hell. _Hell_ , how could I have been so stupid? Was I really so much of an idiot as to think that something like this could be easy? I was cold all over, the banister tingling numbly against my fingers—all the heat in my body seemed to be going to my face, my eyes burning as I fled down the stairs. I couldn’t even bear to look at any of them. Their expressions were so blissfully empty, so perfectly unaware and innocent: they looked at me through the guise of a total stranger. I meant nothing to them. Even if I told them how much they meant to me, it wouldn’t change anything; they would still stare at me with those blank eyes, the pitying draw of their lids. My feelings couldn’t change theirs.

            I turned sharply around the corner at the base of the stairs, wanting to hide—but I could hear voices on the other side of the staircase and I forced myself to pause, listening.

            “And Bree checked the monitors earlier, right?” one voice was asking. I recognized it as Neil’s.

            “Yes,” Tristan’s voice said back. “I just wish we could check it ourselves.”

            “Yeah, but… you know, the tulpa thing,” he sighed back. “At least now we have people who aren’t in the prison anymore who can check it safely.”

            “Hmm,” Tristan said. “Speaking of Bree, does she seem okay to you? She’d mostly been keeping to herself up until yesterday.”

            “I think Olivia talked to her about things,” Neil said. “She still seems stressed out, but… she’s participating now, so that’s a good sign. I’m more worried about Laura, myself.”

            “Why Laura?”

            “Well… you saw the footage from the prison. She didn’t have a tulpa. At all! That would be kind of… _strange_ , don’t you think? To discover that this horrible prison curse didn’t even apply to you because you were never close enough to someone for it to matter. Finding that out would screw me up a little, personally.”

            “Maybe someone should talk to her,” Tristan murmured.

            “Yeah. I was thinking that maybe…”

            I clamped my hands down over my ears and crouched at the side of the staircase. I wasn’t going to listen anymore. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t handle another second, another word. I hadn’t been here for very long at all and yet it was already too much; they were too blind, too full of indifference. How could I possibly hope to handle another second of this?

            I was ripped out of my reverie by the sound of the mansion’s front door opening across the hall. Shortly after came the sound of footsteps approaching down the staircase; I shrank away from the banister above, watching as Laura descended the stairs and walked across the hall to greet whoever had just entered. No doubt it was Olivia. Neil and Tristan’s conversation receded as they walked away.

            Cautious, but sufficiently baited, I slunk from the staircase to the side of the hall, peering around the corner in time to catch the beginning of Laura and Olivia’s conversation. They were standing a few feet in from the doorway, Gam stamping her boots over the mat behind them. Olivia’s gaze flicked to the side, and she saw me—but said nothing.

            “Hey,” Laura said to her as she approached. “I’m glad you’re back. I wanted to ask you about that sword of yours.”

            “Doran’s Blade?” she asked, glancing down at the article in question. It was strapped to her belt loops, the red of the hilt and sheath crossed with dark coils of gold.

            Laura nodded. “It looks just like this sword that my brother used to have. It was a long time ago, and—well, he didn’t name his, but I wanted to ask you where you got yours.”

            Olivia touched the hilt as she spoke, fingers pressed into the gold-dusted metal. “It’s a bit of an heirloom, you could say. We found it at the campsite. Enoch used it, then Gigi, then Max, then Caehl… then me. I don’t know where it came from before that.”

            “Huh.” Laura shook her head absently. “It looks just like my brother’s…”

            “Like this?” Gam asked from behind Olivia. She unsheathed the long katana that hung from her back and posed, limbs spread in a flourish. In truth, her weapon looked almost uncannily like Doran’s Blade, the hilt and sheath dressed in the same coils of red and gold. “Meet Bloodthirster, kiddos,” she said.

            “Yours is named too?” Olivia said, watching her curiously.

            “Sure! I wasn’t going to own a badass sword like this and _not_ name it,” she said as she straightened up. “Same game, too. Now how’d that thing end up as Doran’s Blade if you don’t know any pop culture references?”

            “Caehl named it.”

            Gam was quiet for a moment, then laughed a little shakily. “Well. Great minds think alike.”

            Laura returned to shaking her head. “It is _so_ weird, how familiar they look. All three of them. I wonder if there’s a reason why?”

            “I’d like to know, myself,” Olivia said, turning her attention back to Laura. “How are you doing, by the way?”

            She shrugged. “Alright, I think. A little tired, after everything. And it’s like… it’s strange, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. I should be okay, though.”

            Gam quietly returned Bloodthirster to its sheath as Laura said this. Her eyes narrowed in Olivia’s direction, then held their dark, rust-red slits as they slipped back to Laura.

            Olivia kept her gaze on Laura. “If there’s any way we can help you, just tell us.”

            They didn’t talk for much longer. I turned away from the corner of the hall, leaning against the wall with my hands digging into my thighs. My breathing was unstable and jittery. I sucked in great breaths of air, praying that this would somehow bring the heat back into my limbs. I couldn’t do this. I knew I couldn’t do this. I had to keep myself together for everyone else’s sake—after the prison was gone, after the others were saved; only then could I break down. I kept repeating this over and over in my head as I breathed, finding that the intake of air gradually grew steadier and steadier.

            It was just another day, right? I could do this. All I needed was a plan. If I had a plan for the future, then I would be able to handle this on my own. So that’s what I would do. I would come up with a plan.

            A few minutes later, Olivia rounded the corner in search of me. When she approached, she saw me leaning against the wall, completely calm and collected, expression as placid as a lake. “Hey,” she said. “How are you doing?”

            “Good,” I said. My voice was smooth and didn’t break. I could do this. I stared at her. “Hey, Olivia…”

            “Yes?”

            “Earlier, you were asking Gam about what you were like in the past,” I said. I was surprised by how confident I sounded. “And I wanted to tell you… You weren’t the same as you are now.”

            “I wasn’t?” she said, expression one of mute surprise.

            “No,” I said. “You were quieter, and… darker, and just different. Not necessarily a bad different. You did a lot of great things with us, and we had a ton of fun. I could always tell that you really cared about us. But… But the you who existed before the war, before the campsite, before the prison… she’s a different person from who you are now. You somehow care even _more_ than you used to. Even though you forgot everything, that hasn’t stopped you from, well… growing.”

            At first I was worried I’d said too much. She stared at me, clearly stunned, and then huffed out a heavy breath. “Thank you, Ash,” she said.

            This world had become a place that was likely to burn me alive. But I had a plan to make it my own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news! I've got a [full map of the mansion](http://imgur.com/a/x24gQ) for you all.
> 
> Today's "weird POV surprise" comes in honor of the fanfiction "[Background Pony](http://www.fimfiction.net/story/19198/background-pony)," an old favorite of mine that uses the same method to great effect. I actually patterned a number of things in this update after BGP's style. If you like ponies I'd highly encourage you to read it. 
> 
> The tile of this Chapter, "The Part Where She Kills You," should be easily identifiable by most. The pronoun switch might be harder to pin down; though I still think a number of people in the group will be able to place it without much effort.


	27. 5.2 "A Good Uchronia"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome!  
> To Violent City!

(Ab)normal Days

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<MADS>

}

            I took a deep breath, looking away from the others and towards the doors. All of the others were gathered in the cafeteria in front of me. I had just finished explaining the rules of the prison, and the truth of our surroundings, to all of them. Tired of standing, I sat down at the nearest table across from Izzy and Kayla. The timer hung above me, looming over my face like an ongoing threat. It read 22.01.33. Less than a day left.

            An uncomfortable silence fell across the room after I finished. Izzy shifted a few times, looking towards Kayla and then away, until finally allowing her eyes to wander over to mine. “Okay, so,” she muttered. “So who’s who then? Do you know who is a tulpa and who… _isn’t?_ ”

            I looked at Nikita, sitting on the edge of the cafeteria nearest to me. She shrugged, the movement nothing more than a noncommittal shift of her wiry shoulders.

            “…Yes,” I said after a pause. “Well, I know how to figure it out at least. It’s actually pretty simple, so…”

            “Go on,” Izzy said, voice low.

            I swallowed. “Okay. Just to make sure I’m remembering things correctly; you and Kayla both have purple flashlights, right?”

            They exchanged another glance, and then nodded.

            “Then that confirms you two are a pair,” I told them.

            Izzy made a face. “Hardly surprising. We _are_ related.”

            “Let’s hear them out,” Kayla said in a low voice.

            “Right, so…” I really didn’t like doing this. I was relieved that this would be the last time. “So how long have you been in the prison for, Izzy? Before Gam showed up, I mean.”

            “’Bout a month or so,” she said.

            Zach and I both let out a heavy breath, the sudden sound of his voice putting me on edge. Nikita lowered her gaze away from the others, to the floor. “Then you’re alive,” I told her. “And Kayla is the tulpa.”

            The room was quiet for an uncomfortably long moment. Zach sat across from Nikita at the table just next to me, hands folded solemnly in his lap. Nikita was like a brick wall. Aaron was watching me with his hands over his mouth, utterly immobile. Caehl was sitting far away from the group, head lowered every time I glanced over. Izzy looked down, away from me, expression as stone—Kayla watched her, unspeaking. She didn’t speak until Izzy raised her head to look at her; by that point, all eyes were on Kayla.

            She slid a low-lidded gaze across the room, across all of our prying eyes. “Well,” she said. “It’s hardly surprising, now is it?”

            “What do you mean?” I said, taken aback.

            Kayla gestured lowly at herself, leaning forward over the table with her fingers drifting out like fish fins in open water. “Look at me. All I’ve done the past five days is walk around making references and memes. All my depth of character is completely inaccessible to prying eyes. None of you are every truly going to get to know me. The real me is hidden eight thousand feet under, buried as in a _sea grave_.” She paused to laugh at herself, countenance suddenly darker and—ironically—drier than it had been before. “Come on, look at me! I’m more or less a walking trope. Out of the two of us, nii-san is far more interesting. It’s only fitting that she would get to live.”

            “Well—hang on,” I managed, unsure of how to respond to such a speech. “Like I said, there’s a way we might be able to save the tulpas—”

            “I don’t want to forget Kayla,” Izzy said sharply, eyes dark. But her expression almost immediately cleared and she sat back. “I mean, I don’t want to kill her either, but…”

            “Please, sister.” Kayla sighed, looking at her, eyes low and strangely languid. “You heard what Mads said. I’m already dead.”

            “We can try to jog your memory, Kayla,” I reminded her. “If it works, you should be able to leave the prison no problem.”

            “And if it doesn’t?” she said, rounding on me with an unexpected intensity.

            “Then… then we figure it out from there,” I said. “No one has to die. I promise you guys, we can make this work.”

            “If jogging my memory doesn’t work, then there are only two options left,” she said flatly, expression completely devoid of anything. “Either Izzy does what the prison intended and kills me, or she grievously injures me so that you can wipe all memory of my existence from the face of this earth. Is that correct?”

            “…Yes. And that second one will save your life.”

            “Izzy doesn’t want to forget me,” she said.

            I frowned. “Well, yes, but… If it saves your life…”

            Kayla stood up suddenly. She looked unexpectedly angry, her lips twisted up and her eyes burning fire into mine. “Laura didn’t have a tulpa,” she said.

            “…Um, yes…”

            She leaned forward over the table, bearing down on me, eyebrows lowered. “Did Laura _really_ not have a tulpa?”

            “Well, I…” My throat closed up on me. I couldn’t respond.

            Luckily, the answer didn’t seem to matter to her as much as her next point did. “A life where no one remembers you is an empty one,” she hissed into my face. “Why would I want to gain all my memories back, only to be surrounded by a bunch of uncaring individuals who know nothing of me? Like I said, the _true_ me has been buried deeply. I am already very alone. I do not want to be _more_ alone. I refuse to accept such an option.”

            She sat back, seemingly satisfied with her claims. I chanced a look in Izzy’s direction—though her expressions were usually very muted, for once she seemed to be genuinely stunned, staring at her sister with wide eyes. The cafeteria felt colder and emptier than normal. I let out a stiff breath, staring at Kayla. “Okay, so… so what are you implying, here?”

            Her expression shifted rapidly, teeth gleaming as her lips morphed into what was at once a grin, and then suddenly a grimace. She produced her gun from her side and shoved it into Izzy’s stunned grasp, holding the weapon steady as she cocked it for Izzy and pointed it at herself. Poised like this, holding Izzy’s hand in place with the gun pointed at her own temple, Kayla looked at me. “I am implying,” she said. “That we get it over with.”

            I stared at her in mute horror. Izzy ripped her hand away and said, “Jesus, Kayla…”

            Kayla looked over the barrel of the gun in her hand at Izzy, almost disappointed. “Nii-san, don’t you realize? I’m already dead. If I die again, then I save you. You get to live. A death where I sacrifice myself to save _anyone_ —let alone my own sister—why, that’s the best death I could ask for!” She waved the gun, seeming to resist the urge to grin, her wrist twisting in a rapid circle. “So go on and shoot me.”

            “H-Hang on,” Caehl piped up suddenly. I was relieved to hear a new voice enter the conversation—but when I looked over, she seemed to be even more out of sorts than the Seagraves. “I… I’m sorry, I know this is very important, but…” she shifted in her seat. “Does how long you’ve been here have to do with anything? Because… Because I showed up the day-of, as you all know, so…” Her eyes searched the floor, and then looked up to search me. “Does that mean I’m dead?”

            “Well, um…” I swallowed, shifting under her wide-eyed gaze. “Yes. You are.”

            She seemed to be having some trouble processing that. Aaron spoke up. “Hang on, I’ve been here for a month. Like Izzy. So does that mean I’m alive, and Caehl is…?” He looked over at her with a gaze that was as critical as it was curious.

            “Uh, no. I mean,” I shook my head. “Yes, you’re alive, but Caehl isn’t your tulpa. There’s… Caehl’s student is Gam, actually. The mastermind. As for you, Aaron, um… We don’t think you have a tulpa at all.”

            “What?” He took a moment to consider this. He blinked. “Why not?”

            I shrugged stiffly. It seemed as though there was no end to the uncomfortable conversations that I had to have. “I mean… it’s possible that you were simply never close with anyone who died, so…”

            He blinked at me again, as though what I was saying was idiotic. “There was a war going on. That’s what you said, right?”

            “Yes.”

            “And you’re saying I just… didn’t know anyone? I was just alone? It… it was a _war_! I had friends. I _have_ friends. It’s impossible for there to have been no one.”

            I stared at him. There wasn’t much I could say to make him feel better.

            “Trust me,” Zach murmured, averting his gaze. “You don’t _want_ to have a tulpa.”

            Aaron looked even more affronted. “No, of course I don’t, but—” He grit his teeth, as though grappling with something, but then ultimately sighed and fell silent.

            Caehl, meanwhile, had found her voice again. “So I’m… I _was_ friends with this Gam person? But I… I don’t know anything about her, I… Could I really have forgotten everything about a person?”

            “Um…” I swallowed. “I know it’s a lot to take in. It’s okay if it, you know, upsets you. We have a plan to try and jog your memories, so we’ll make sure everything turns out okay. You don’t have to be scared or anything.”

            She nodded absently, looking shaken. I recalled AJ’s death and resisted the urge to wince; it seemed like there had been nothing but bad news for Caehl so far. I wanted to make it up to her, but I wasn’t sure how. She certainly didn’t seem eager to have the spotlight on her, at any rate.

            Kayla slammed her gun down on the table, startling me. “Perhaps we could take care of Izzy and myself, now? It will only take a few minutes. I’ve never been one for goodbyes.”

            “Will you knock it off, Kayla?” Izzy snapped before I could respond. “You’re freaking me out, alright? Like, I get it, there’s not much time left and you wanna get shit done—I _guess_ —but we need to slow the _fuck_ down for a minute. Pretending that I actually believe all these bullshit rules for a second—which I don’t—but pretending that I _do_ , Mads said that we can try the memory thing. If we can get your memories back, then neither of us have to die. Okay?”

            Kayla studied her with a surly expression for a moment. Then she said, in an almost bored tone, “Nii-san, why don’t you ask our dear friend Mads here if this ‘memory thing’ has ever actually worked before.”

            Izzy looked at me. I sighed and said, “We haven’t gotten a chance to try it before now. What with the real mastermind getting in the way all the time.”

            She looked back to Kayla expectantly. Expression unchanged, Kayla muttered, “Well, what did they say?”

            Izzy blinked, looking hurt, but quickly recovered and growled out, “They haven’t managed to try it bef—”

            “So the _point_ of all this,” Kayla drawled. “Is that we don’t know if it will work. And as dearest Mads so _kindly_ pointed out, there’s an unknown third mastermind in the mix as well. Provided that this individual doesn’t interfere—which is very unlikely—there is still the all-too-possible chance that restoring my memories _won’t work_.” She leaned forward. “I am telling you, nii-san, to choose the safest and smartest option. Which is, naturally, to kill me.”

            Izzy stood up. “Knock it off,” she said. “Seriously.”

            Kayla stared at her. “I’m only being logical.”

            “You don’t sound logical,” Izzy seethed. “You sound fuckin’ crazy, is what you sound like. You sound _suicidal_.”

            “Don’t be absurd, nii-san. If I killed myself, I wouldn’t be able to save your life.”

            “Shut up!” she snapped—the loudest she’d ever raised her voice since I first talked to her five days ago. “Knock it off. I’m not going to fucking kill you, okay? I’m not gonna—” she stopped herself, cut short with a grunt as though something was caught in her throat. “This is fucking _ridiculous_. How the fuck do I even know that Mads is tellin’ the truth? You all just believe this shit? Just because they said it?”

            Zach waved his hand a little sheepishly. “I have my memories back after killing Malcolm, so I can confirm that they’re telling the truth.”

            Izzy stared at him. She half-blinked, half-twitched. Her hands clenched up into fists. For a moment my mind flashed back to the scene of Jack accidentally shooting Zach in the eye, and I nearly stood up to come between them; but before I could move, Izzy calmed, her shoulders lowering and her fingers uncurling. She turned in my direction. “I’m not killing her,” she snarled. “Do you understand? I’m not going to hurt her.”

            Then she spun around and stormed out of the cafeteria.

            “Huh,” Kayla said. She half-turned her head to look at me with a grin. “Seems I’ve struck a nerve.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            I really wasn’t sure what to think of all this.

            I had expected a lot of different reactions out of everyone. Aaron and Caehl had responded in more or less the same way that I had predicted they would. Even Izzy was mostly within the grounds of expectation. But Kayla had gone in exactly the opposite direction that I had anticipated. If I had known she would feel this way about being a tulpa, I might have called off the whole plan to tell everyone the truth. This was beyond what I could handle.

            But I wasn’t going to let that stop me from trying. After the group dispersed, I asked Kayla to stay behind so I could talk to her. Maybe I’d be able to make more sense of the situation one-on-one.

            “You want to talk again?” she asked as she sat down once more. She seemed to be more or less her normal self now that everyone else had calmed down. “It’s been a while since we last talked casually. When was it last—in the laundry room, I think? Yeah, that was some time ago. Did you have a particular subject in mind?”

            “Actually, yes,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you about the whole, you know, tulpa th—”

            “Because I’ve been thinking lately,” she said. “About the multiverse theory. Are you familiar with the multiverse theory? I think it is actually quite pertinent to the rules of this prison, at least within the grounds of my discussion.”

            I paused, letting out a huff. “Um, yes, I’m familiar with it, but I’d rather if we talked about—”

            “See,” she said, and she leaned forward over the table, eyes gleaming. It was then that I realized the intensity she’d displayed earlier had never actually left—it had just gone into hiding. Until now. “If I am to believe in the multiverse theory—and I do—it means that every time I have a dream, I am creating an entirely new universe of real and intelligent life. And when I wake up—” she snapped her fingers, and her cordial smile slipped away as her voice lowered. “I kill them. Mass murder. Total genocide. Multiple divergent realities of living, breathing creatures, all wiped away in an instant.”

            “U-Um,” I stared. “Kayla, that’s—”

            She leaned back. “Of course, there’s another set of identical universes that operate independently of my own mind, because if we are to believe the multiverse theory it means that this is equally as possible. But that doesn’t take away from the value of the universes I destroyed, now does it?” She studied me with a dark, somber gaze. “All that precious life, destroyed for nothing. Simply because I decided to wake up.”

            I swallowed. “Okay, that’s… You said this had something to do with the prison?”

            “Of course it does!” she said, blinking at me. “Isn’t it obvious? If you take a moment, under the guise of the multiverse theory, to consider all the life that I’ve ruthlessly destroyed—it makes perfect sense that I wouldn’t see the value in my own self-preservation. To sacrifice myself to save another, why, that would be nirvana. Or, at the very least…” She grinned at me in a decidedly _hungry_ way. “Redemption.”

            “Right, um… Speaking of Izzy, I was wondering if you could—”

            “Well, she’s my sister at any rate.” Kayla sighed, leaning back. “Of course I’m going to want to save her, even if I _didn’t_ like her. All human life is valuable, you know.”

            I took a deep breath. “Yes, but—”

            “But I _do_ like her, as you’ve probably guessed,” she continued, unperturbed. “We share so many interests and personality traits that we probably would have ended up friends even if we _hadn’t_ crawled out of the same flesh hole.” Something seemed to occur to her, and she smiled at me. “ _There’s_ a good uchronia for you.”

            “Okay—”

            “So anyway, of course I’d willingly sacrifice myself for her,” she stated with a shrug, still smiling despite the subject matter. “It’s all very straightforward. I can’t see why anyone would be confused by it. I’m going to go now, Mads. Thanks for the chat.”

            She stood up and strode out of the cafeteria. I slammed my head onto the table and resisted the urge to scream. In the end all I produced was a low groan. I couldn’t tell if Kayla’s aloof behavior was intentional or accidental. I couldn’t figure out _anything_ about her, really.

            I wasn’t alone for long. Only a few minutes later, the cafeteria doors swung open and Aaron walked in, making his way directly for the fridge. I didn’t say anything, only turning my head slightly to watch as he knelt over the open door and inspected the contents therein. He quietly produced a bottle of egg nog, poured himself a glass, and then turned to lean against the counter as he drank from it.

            We studied each other in silence for a moment. He eventually lowered the glass and muttered, “That’s some real shit you dropped on us, innit?”

            “Yeah,” I said, expression apologetic. “I’m beginning to see the value of discovering it over time, instead of all at once.”

            “And you didn’t think to tell us any of it before now?” he said. It was hard to hear his tone as anything other than accusatory.

            “No, I did, but…” I frowned, avoiding his gaze. “It’s… I mean, it’s hard. You saw how Kayla reacted. It was even worse than I’d been expecting. How… How can I be expected to tell people that they’re not alive?”

            I expected him to stay recalcitrant, but to my surprise he let out a sigh and walked in my direction. “Well, she’s _hardly_ your usual student. Or—I guess _not_ a student, huh? Since our talents aren’t real. Fuck.”

            “It took me some getting used to as well,” I said blearily.

            He sat down at the table next to me, leaning back with one leg crossed over the other. His expression was difficult to read. It seemed to be his usual resting face, with his eyes low and his lips in a thin line, but something about his gaze told me that his interior was almost _hyperactive_ —he was studying me carefully, searching over every movement I made. “It’s just…” he grimaced, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “I can’t even believe this shit. I can’t even trust my own _brain_ anymore.”

            “What do you mean?” I asked.

            “The program erased our memories,” he snapped. “Who’s to say it didn’t do _more_ than that? You don’t know all the answers, do you?” The question seemed to be rhetorical, but I shook my head “no” anyways. He grit his teeth. “I’ve been forgetting things in fucking _droves._ When you asked me about finding Jack’s body—I made that alibi up. Truth is, I just woke up there. I didn’t know _what_ to think. I thought maybe… I thought I’d killed him, you know? Why else would I be there, just out of nowhere?”

            “That’s… happening to someone else, too,” I told him slowly. “The memory loss.”

            “Who?”

            “Zach,” I said, unavoidably reluctant.

            He let out a breath through his nose. “Well maybe Zach’s the cause of all this then, I don’t know. It sure as hell isn’t _me_. I would _know_ if it was me, right?” He shook his head. “I thought I’d killed him. I thought Jack was dead because of me. I was—Jesus, I was so fucking scared.”

            I made to respond, but he kept going; it seemed everyone had heard enough of my voice for one day.

            “It’s all so easy, you know?” he said. “Killing. Our whole society is built around this idea that I won’t just reach across the counter and strangle the cashier to death. Or mangle a bank teller or fuckin’—throw someone out of a ten story window, or… Jesus, it would just be so _easy._ I know that’s fucked up to say, but… Fuck.”

            I swallowed. “But you wouldn’t. Right?”

            “Right,” he muttered. He seemed to have half a mind to say something else, but instead drowned his words in his glass of egg nog for a long moment. When he did proceed, it was with a different subject. “If I really don’t have a tulpa, then I could just leave this place at any time. But—fuck, the world’s literally post-apocalyptic at this point. What reason would I have to go out there? I don’t even know who I am anymore!”  
  
            “Yes you do,” I said. “The program didn’t take _all_ your memories.”

            “But how can I _know_ that?” he said, voice raised empathetically. “Who’s to say it didn’t change all of our memories? Make us into completely new people? How can I know, for even a single second, that _you’re_ real? Every other person in this prison could be a fucking simu-fucking-lation, just like the rest of the goddamn place. How would I know any better? Jesus, I hope you’re real. I have no way of knowing. None of my observations mean shit at this point. Like I said, I can’t even trust my own brain anymore.”

            I stared at him, trying to think of a worthwhile response. Seeming to take my silence for discomfort, his expression fell as he leaned away from me in an almost surly manner. “Well… I don’t know,” he said, voice low. “I guess I just thought I would have a tulpa. But—you have to die to be a tulpa, right? So maybe my friends are all still alive. Maybe you and Zach and Izzy were my friends, or something like that. So I’ve gotta be here to keep you guys alive. We’ll just—Jesus—kill who we need to kill and then get out.”

            “But we can save them…” I started.

            “Yeah, by wiping everyone’s memories,” he snarled back. “Like Kayla said, Laura could have _actually_ had a tulpa, and none of us would even remember! I don’t even _want_ to know if that’s true or not. To be forgotten like that… you’re not even alive in such a situation. You’re artificially alive, dead to everyone you care about—not even dead, they don’t even remember you! You don’t even exist at _all._ I would never, _never_ do that to another person.”

            My throat seemed to have closed up. I resisted the urge to cough as I looked down at the slate gray floor. “It’s a good thing Kayla agrees with you, then.”

            “Yeah, I guess,” he said. He huffed abruptly, letting out a long breath. “Well, thanks for listening to my shit for a while there. It… helped to say all that out loud.”

            “No problem,” I said. He didn’t stick around, as though it would be tempting fate to stay in my presence any longer. The moment the door closed behind him, I immediately wished I’d said more. Did he want someone to talk to, or someone to vent to? His final comment had suggested the former, but suddenly I wasn’t sure. It felt, strangely, like I had missed out on something important. Shaking the feeling away, I quickly got to my feet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            Not long after, Nikita found me to tell me that she had located the newly-unlocked area in the prison. Gam had told me about the system the prison had in place; at the end of each 24-hour cycle, a new set of doors in the simulation was set to unlock, as “symbolic incentive” to match Junko’s story. That’s what the padded cells, and some various rooms in the main building, had been for. Today, however, Nikita led me to the theatre on campus. It seems as though the main auditorium had been opened up for our perusal.

            The lobby alone was massive, circling around the front of the building in a wide arc. It was clearly a very beautiful theatre, with gilded gold circuits carved into the banisters and elegant shapes riding along the walls. The actual theatre was even more impressive: it must have been able to seat at least a thousand people. When I stood on the stage, Nikita looked like a speck from where she leaned over the second floor balcony.

            The wings were full of thick weighted cables that extended high into the rafters above, tying down all manner of curtains and rods. It looked like the huge metal plates could crush my hands with only a little force; similarly, the sandbags present seemed heavy enough to kill. I tried to shake away such morbid thoughts, but they were easy to come by at this point. In the back of the right wing, a door led into the previously-explored green room. I couldn’t help but be pleased with the size of the place. The hugeness of the ceilings, extending far above me into the unseen, was strangely comforting.

            In the very back, behind the stage partitions, I found rows and rows of secured metal crates and cans. Some investigation—and postulating—revealed them to be part of some unfinished pyrotechnics. Probably part of some elaborate stage show or another, some ghost of meaning put into this place to make it seem more real. I sifted a bit cautiously through the contents of one; there were two compartments to each container. One was filled with some sort of gold dust, and the other with a dark, sickly-sweet smelling liquid. It was clear that the liquid was a fuel of some variety, but I couldn’t say any more than that. I wished there was someone more knowledgeable here to explain.

            Also in the back were big set pieces; a backdrop of a medieval countryside, a cardboard cutout of a castle courtyard, and lots of little pieces meant to cover banisters or raise the floors. I wondered if Junko had a specific story in mind when she crafted this fake play. Was this some sort of aesthetic choice? A simple matter of convenience? Junko, as a character that I could not remember and had never met, seemed very distant to me.

            There was also a prop table, covered in fake swords and jewelry and what looked to be some misplaced masks from the green room. This whole place, I reflected, really _was_ like a stage set. Everything had been left here as though it had just been in use mere moments ago; all of it part of an elaborate illusion, a set up. It seemed so real, so convincing. But now that I knew the truth, I could see it as nothing but a farce.

            I was standing in front of the prop table, staring at a plastic dagger and thinking all this, when Kayla walked up.

            She made a show of casting her gaze around the rafters above us, before settling a conspiratorial eye on me. “Not bad, not bad. There’s quite a number of interesting things in here. Shame it’ll all be destroyed by the end of the day.”

            “More of a relief, if you ask me,” I said. I was watching her carefully.

            Her expression was strangely knowing, almost concipient; as though she had a secret she wished to tell me. As it turned out, she did, because she next leaned in and muttered, “Listen. I don’t necessarily _want_ to die. My thing, my whole mantra I guess, is that I don’t want to waste life. In this situation, Izzy’s life strikes me as objectively more valuable than mine. But if I can spare both of us at no losses, then of course I’m going to choose that option. The ‘no losses’ part is the bit that’s got us hooked up, is all.”

            “Okay,” I said, sensing that she wasn’t done.

            “None of us know if jogging our memories will actually save a tulpa,” she continued. “ _Or_ if it’s even possible. But, as it turns out, I’m not the only tulpa still around.” Her hand came to her chin as she watched for my reaction. “So test your theory out on Caehl first. If it works, then great. If not… well, I’m sure you’ve gotten an idea by now of how that’ll go.”

            I frowned at her, resisting the urge to make a face. “Truth be told, we were probably going to try saving Caehl first anyway. But, I mean… I don’t know, okay? I need to talk to Gam and Olivia, too. Your idea isn’t a bad one, I guess, but I can’t promise that it’ll work out that way.”

            She blinked at me. Her smile seemed to slide around her face, as though she was having trouble figuring out exactly how happy she wanted to be. “Look,” she said with sudden sharpness. “I’m trying to be nice about this. But no one is going to get in the way of me saving my sister.” She stepped abruptly forward. “You have nine hours. If a _safe_ alternative solution has not presented itself in that time, then I’ll be taking matters into my own hands. Try to work quickly.”

            She left before I could respond. I stared at her retreating figure in shock, completely unsure of what to think. She was going to _take matters into her own hands_? What the hell was that supposed to mean? I wasn’t even sure if I should be taking her seriously or not. She’d never done anything before now to seem particularly antagonistic, but for a moment there she’d seemed downright _dangerous._ Nine hours.

            I returned to the cafeteria to check the timer. It was just a little over the 17th hour, meaning that I had until the 8th hour to come up with a solution that would, as it were, placate Kayla. Well… that wouldn’t be a problem, right? As long as we could jog Caehl’s memories…

            “Hey, Olivia?” I called up. The cafeteria was empty save for me—despite the invaluable resource, something about talking to the masterminds while other people were around struck me as a little awkward.

            There was a pause. “Nah,” Gam’s voice reported back. “Just me this time. Olivia’s talkin’ with Ash at the moment. Somethin’s got her real bothered. What do you need?”

            “I just wanted to ask, about Caehl… Are you ready to… you know, try saving her?”

            “Hmm,” Gam responded in a grunt. “Yeah, but Olivia and I were thinkin’ you might want to see Izzy and Kayla’s simulation first. You know, so you’ll be prepared.”

            “That’s a good idea,” I said. “Do you know when Olivia will be back?”

            “Soon, I imagine,” she muttered. “She doesn’t like leaving the prison for long. Though she’s certainly calmed down a bit since I showed up. At any rate, I heard what Kayla said and I’m sure you’ll have enough time for both Caehl and the simulation.”

            Armed with this knowledge, I decided to spend some time talking with some of the others while I waited. I specifically wanted to talk to Zach and Izzy; Izzy, of course, because I wanted to get her side of things. And Zach, because…

            I hadn’t exactly been open about my theory to anyone—not even Gam or Olivia. But, truth be told, I was beginning to worry that Zach’s behavior was nothing more than a front. He was the first one to kill, after all, and he had absolutely no reason to stay here afterwards. But he had. And then the whole memory thing, and this mysterious third mastermind, and _Aaron_ losing memories too…

            Something didn’t add up, which meant that _someone_ had to be lying to me. At this point, there weren’t a lot of options—Aaron and Zach were easily the two most suspicious people here, all things considered. Aaron had no tulpa and was missing memories, but Zach had all his memories back and no reason to still be in the prison. Add to that the speech Aaron had given me today, and it seemed unlikely that _he_ was to blame. He really did seem innocent. Plus… I mean, _hell_ , I’d spent thirty whole days before all this shit started doing nothing but talking to him. Maybe it was a little biased, but I definitely trusted Aaron. I had to know him well enough for that at this point, right?

            So I needed to talk to Zach and see what was going on.

            As usual, he was interested in having some tea. Eager to humor him, I took a seat in the cafeteria and let him get to work brewing.

            “So… how are you doing?” I asked after a pause.

            He looked up from the teapot to say, “Uh… Okay, I think. I don’t know. I’m really worried about everyone else.”

            “Well, sure,” I said. “Me too. But there’s a lot going on with you, you know?”

            He knit his eyebrows together. “You mean the memory thing? Well, that hasn’t happened again since the incident with Malcolm, thank god. That said, I’m very worried about this third mastermind you were talking about.”

            That didn’t tell me much. Maybe he was the source, as the first person to lose his memories? But that didn’t explain why it wouldn’t happen a second time. “Me too,” I mumbled absently.

            “We don’t have to talk about things like that, though,” he said as he walked over, the teapot on the tray in his hands. “I mean… I have my memories back now, so I remember a lot of very good things, too.”

            “Like?”

            He seemed to consider it as he sat down. “Like my sister!” he said brightly.

            “Oh,” I said. I swallowed. “Is she…? Um…”

            He laughed in an almost gracious manner. It didn’t seem fake. “Her name is Tressa. She’s alive, at least as far as I’m aware,” he said. His countenance quickly slipped somewhere serious. “At least, I hope so. The last memory I have of her is a letter she sent me. She told me she was being taken to a refugee camp to wait out the last year of the war. Our family…” he swallowed a little stiffly. “Well, things didn’t go as well as they could have. But she was alive, and somewhere safe. It’s just…”

            He seemed to catch himself, and hesitated. “Go on,” I said. My expression was painfully twisted but nothing I tried would sort it out.

            “Sorry,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just… I’d been planning on going to the refugee camp to pick her up and keep her safe with me. After the war, and all. But then we all found out that Tristan and Junko had kidnapped the others, so we all went to try and save them, and… well, we were imprisoned. As you know.”

            “I don’t, actually,” I said. “Haven’t gotten my memories back.”

            “Oh, right! Of course.” He blinked, as though this hadn’t occurred to him until now. “Well, yes. We were kidnapped when we tried to save the others from the campsite. So now… I can’t say for sure where my sister is anymore. Honestly, she’s the main reason I want to get out of this prison. I… I just care about her a lot.”

            “Then why haven’t you?” I asked. “Gotten out of the prison, I mean. You could leave right now if you wanted to.”

            “Sure, but…” he shifted, expression dark with consternation. He seemed to be on the verge of something. “After Malcolm died, and I got all those memories back… I was in a lot of despair, sure, but I’d also remembered all of my _friends._ All of you. I couldn’t just leave without you guys. You’re all so important to me, I… I had to stay to help.”

            “Really?” I said.

            “Of course! But then Jacob and AJ, and…” He winced. “It was… difficult, because I had to watch all of them die, knowing who they were in the past and where they had come from…” He winced again, _hard_ , clearly fighting tears. “I keep thinking all of this is s…somehow my fault. People have died in here, and Tressa could be in danger, and all of my family is dead—i-it all feels as though I’ve done something wrong, somehow.”

            He let out a sob and consented to his own emotions, hiding his face behind a napkin on the tea tray. It must have been painful with his eye missing—the napkin was more to cover his discomfort than his emotion. “I’m sorry,” he said through shaky breaths. “I didn’t mean to cry like this…”

            I stared at him, briefly horrified with myself. How could I ever suspect him of lying to me after a scene like that? “Hey, Zach, i-it’s okay,” I managed, putting a hand over his free one on the table. “It’s not your fault, alright? It’s _someone’s_ fault, that’s for sure, but… I’ll figure out who it is, okay? It’s gonna be fine.”

            I stayed with Zach for a little while longer, trying to help him calm down. He didn’t seem to believe me when I told him he was innocent—should I take that as a sign of guilt? By the end of the conversation, I was just as doubtful as I’d been when I started, if not more so. Aaron said he wanted to stay in the prison to help us, just like Zach did. Both of them claimed to have lost memories. Both of them were overly passionate and constantly on the verge of self-loathing. I had no idea who to believe.

            Equally as eager to deal with my other problem, I lead Izzy to the cafeteria after my conversation with Zach. Maybe she could help straighten up a few things, at least on her end.

            “So,” she said as I sat down across from her. “I’m assuming you want to talk about Kayla.”

            “Pretty much, yeah,” I said.

            She sighed hard through her nose, glaring at the ground with a surly expression. “She’s an unpredictable loose cannon. What else is there to say?”

            “Well…” I blinked, affronted. “You seem to be close with her, so…”

            “Of course I am. She’s my sister.” Her voice was a snarl, but when she rounded on me her expression cleared into something doubtful. “But I don’t know that much about her. I mean—just cause I’m close with a person doesn’t mean I really _know_ them.”

            “What do you mean?” I said.

            “I mean she’s a closed book,” Izzy growled. “I’m close enough to her where I can sort of _generally_ predict how she’ll react to things, but I can never know for sure. She’s unpredictable. I knew she was gonna have a big reaction to all this tulpa shit, but I didn’t know how big.” She scoffed. “And as you saw, she _definitely_ exceeded my expectations.”

            I frowned. “Do you think she’s dangerous?”

            “I don’t know,” Izzy said. “That’s my point, is that I don’t know. I never know. There’s no way to predict what she might do, or how she might react. Your guess is as good as mine.”

            I considered this, not bothering to hide my troubled expression. “Alright, well… That’s good to know, at the very least. Don’t worry Izzy, everything’s going to turn out okay.”

            “If you say so,” she said, but it was evident by her sneer that she was being sarcastic.

            I raised my eyebrows, affronted. “Why don’t you believe me? I know things don’t _look_ good, but…”

            “It’s not you,” she muttered, then caught herself. “Well, it _is_ you, but more importantly it’s the prison. I don’t trust you, I don’t trust these Gam and Olivia people you keep talking about, and I certainly don’t trust the fucking ground I’m walking on. How could I?”

            “You don’t trust me?”

            “Of course not,” she said. “You withheld information from us for five straight days, and then when you do finally let it loose it’s a bunch of senile shit about a simulation and stolen memories and fucking _zombies_.” She grit her teeth. “I’ll admit it’s the best explanation that anyone’s had to offer so far, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to accept it word-for-word.”

            “Then test it, if you don’t believe me,” I said. “Try to leave.”

            She grimaced, looking away. “I did. Monobear or Gam or whatever you want to call her let me take the elevator down earlier today. I couldn’t go through the portal. I could see her on the other side, but I couldn’t join her. It was like she was an image, and the portal just a solid wall.”

            “You’re telling me you’ve seen the portal and everything and you _still_ don’t believe me?” I said, astonished.

            “Like I said, it’s the best explanation anyone’s had so far,” she muttered. “Certain parts of it definitely seem to be true. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to believe every little fucking thing you say. I still need to use my actual reasoning skills, here—especially since you’ve _admitted_ to not having all the answers. Letting my guard down is a great way to get myself killed.”

            “That doesn’t mean you don’t trust me, then,” I said. “It just means you’re being critical.”

            Izzy stared at me for a long moment. “Uh. Call it what you want. I’ll talk to you later, Mads.”

            Watching her go left a bad taste in my mouth. Getting to know Izzy didn’t seem to be possible at this point; she was too guarded and distrustful. And I guess it didn’t help that I’d been keeping secrets for so long. Solutions didn’t seem likely anymore—but at least she’d had some interesting information to offer.

            As I was thinking this, Gam’s voice murmured to me, “Olivia’s back. You want to meet her at the spare cells?”

            “Sure,” I said. I quickly glanced around to see if anyone had noticed that exchange. The only other people in the room were Caehl and Aaron, sitting together at a table at the other end of the cafeteria. Neither looked up, so I figured I was in the clear. I blinked at them, curious. Caehl was sitting upright, hands tucked underneath her hips, while Aaron was slumped in his seat, movements subdued and minimal.

            “Well, it’s okay,” Caehl was saying. “Based on what Mads said, it looks like we’re all going to get out of here, anyway.”

            “I guess so,” he muttered blearily.

            “And I _still_ like your machete,” she said, cracking something that maybe _might_ have been a smile. “I think you should name it.”

            “Really?” he straightened up a little. “Like what?”

            “You could name it… hmm… Bilgewater Cutlass, or Hextech Gunblade… though those don’t fit very well, do they? Oh, how about Blade of the Ruined King?”

            He blinked at her. “Those are League weapons.”

            “Yeah,” she winced. “Sorry.”

            He blinked again, and then made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Who knows, maybe you really _are_ my tulpa.”

            “That would be nice, I think,” she said. “I mean… I’m sure this Gam person is very nice, but I don’t know anything about them at all. At least I’ve talked to you before. That would make it a little bit better, I guess.”

            He nodded, then said, “On second thought, I don’t think I’d actually want to kill you, though. So maybe it’s for the best.”

            She smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

            He was quiet for a moment, then unsheathed the machete from his side, holding it up with one hand to study it in the dim prison lights. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “Blade of the Ruined King. Why not.”

            “Cool,” Caehl said.

            I slipped out of the cafeteria doors in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one made any note of the chapter title's source, so I guess I win by default. Ha!  
> "The Part Where He Kills You" is from Portal 2, of course. [Here's the scene in question.](https://youtu.be/aQP87ZzcaP0?t=53) If you've never seen it before, I think it's worth the watch. (And the whole game is worth the play.)  
> "The Part Where _She_ Kills You" is a Piratestuck reference, however, which in turn was a Portal 2 reference. So it's a reference within a reference. In Piratestuck, it was the title of one of our Acts.  
>  I chose it for Chapter 5 because... well, a lot of shes are going to do a lot of killing soon. And it's not just literal killing, it's METAPHORICAL killing too. Ain't that exciting?


	28. AG Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of time  
> Let's all hug and say goodbye

 

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<ARCHIE>

}

        Who am I? I’m Rust, or you can call me by my real name, but I’ll probably stab you. Why am I writing this? Olivia let me have control, and I intend to use it for extreme amounts of fun. I won’t even let it be a surprise that this story probably doesn’t take place in the Re_al World. But fuck it, it’s apparently canon now. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<RUST>

}

 

I’m not supposed to be here. I woke up in a field, but I knew what this place was the moment I saw the cabins. This was where my friends were taken. I wandered about, finding empty buildings and staring at the tall, dark trees. Eventually, I settled for the night in one of the cabins. It was labelled ‘Jason Bickford.’

 

        In the morning, I decided to look around more. Eventually, I happened across a large lake, a couple boats sitting lazily at one of the edges. The boat was old and tattered, but it could definitely cross the lake. I began to row, humming “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” to myself.

 

        The mansion on the end of the lake was a different story altogether. It sat upon a tall peak, which made me realize.

 

“Fuck. I have to climb all the way up there.”

 

        I hoped for people, someone to help me. I didn’t expect a gun pointed at me by a small, dog-like creature.

 

“HOI!!!! I’M GAMMIE!”

 

“What the fuck.”

**______________________________________________________________________________**

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<OLIVIA>

}

 

“And that’s the gist of it.” I think I explained that well.

 

“So you’re telling me that everyone except you turned into a fucking Temmie. The game came out in the middle of the fucking war yet people still remember it and played it? I fucking hate video games.”

 

The sentence was ironic coming from the man who was a soldier, yet also was studying to be a game developer.

 

“Yet here you are with a fully charged 3DS in your pocket. By the way, move Charlotte to attack Orochi on Turn 5.”

 

Rust looked down into his jeans, and pulled out his 3DS. He opened it up, and sure enough, he had his units in the proper place.”

 

“Okay what the actual fuck Olivia?” exclaimed Rust.

“Remember, this isn’t canon. Yet it is? I can do whatever I want. That includes turning my friends into Temmies for as long as I please, because why the fuck not? If this dimension is a giant shitpost, why not use that shit and smear it all over the fabric of Space-Time?”

 

“You’re fucking twisted, Olive. The next worst thing you could do is write us all into a story and kill us off one by one. Oh wait.”

 

I paused for a moment. “You make a fair point. However, your time is up. Don’t worry, Temmies can still play video games.”

 

“But how will I flirt with cute peop-“ He was cut off as he turned into a mystical Temmie. With an angry scowl, Rust Temmie picked up his 3DS and walked away into the other room.

 

Olivia walked to the top of the tower, fully expecting whatever was next. She knew that in this world, it was shitpost or get memed on.

 

“WE!”

“ARE!”

“THE!”

“CRYSTAL METH!”

 

“What the fuck Dani?! GEMS! G-E-M-S!” yelled Buck.

 

“Hey, you know that meth sells for much more than some gemstones. If we had, I dunno, the Hope Diamond.”

 

“We already tried that,” exclaimed Haley. “We also tried to kidnap a Saudi prince, but he ended up taking my favorite deer paperweight.”

 

“You also have 27 more of those exact paperweights in your bag,” Pam said.

 

“They are limited FUCKING edition,” yelled Haley.

 

“I’d hate to break up this fuckfest, but can you all move your shitposting downstairs? You can play cards. Go Fish anyone?”

 

The Crystal Meths wandered downstairs, but Olivia stayed. She knew what was coming to this world. It was every single AU ever conceived for Re_Kin:dux. The Teen Wolf AU, the Baseball Team AU, the fucking JoJo AU. Ever terrible idea spun from her friends was coming to life. Soon, the mansion was filled with dozens of people, many of whom were alternate versions of each other. The Fire Emblem AU Gam was arguing with PJO AU Gam. All of the Aarons were checking each other out, with a constant sound of “No homo man,” coming from them. The Baseball Team broke several windows by just pitching.

 

Olivia thought to herself. It had all come to fruition. Re:kin_dux wasn’t about friends or struggles. She wanted a place where she could rule among dozens of universes at once. After all, despite the several multiverses, there was only one Olivia Fishwick.  She just needed the final member to arrive. Poor Rust, he’s still sitting on the couch playing video games like nothing happened. Olivia quickly forgot the poor Temmie, and quickly turned her attention back to the chaos at hand. Oh how she loved the chaos.

**________________________________________________________________________________ **

 

I’m not sure what I was writing either have this shitpost about Olivia enjoying our shitty AUs I came up with the baseball one. I didn’t even fuckin proofread this enjoy yourselves. Olivia forgive me for my sins.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand that's alternate ending #5. This one was written by Archie, who requested to have one of his own. I was happy to oblige.
> 
> Real 5.3 coming soon.


	29. 5.3 "A Half-Stranger"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So what,  
> I'll die  
> Alone?  
> Alright.

(Ab)normal Days

            As I approached the simulation cells, I saw that one of the doors was open—Halley’s. At first I wasn’t sure why Olivia wouldn’t simply be here in person; but then I raised my gaze across the long hallway towards the rest of the cells and saw some sort of a commotion going on outside of Izzy’s. That would do it, then.

            Walking over, I saw Izzy standing in her doorway, one hand gripping the hard metal of the wall while the other hovered in a fist in front of her grit teeth. Kayla was bearing down on her with arms crossed—or trying to, at least, because Zach was standing between the two of them with his free hand wavering over Kayla’s shoulder, the other clutching his umbrella. The scene looked ready to unravel at any moment.

            “…Can’t see why _you_ would wish to get involved, at any rate,” Kayla was muttering into Zach’s face.

            “I just don’t want anything bad to happen, okay?” he said, casting a sidelong glance back at the girl he was trying to protect.

            Izzy’s teeth seemed to clench somehow harder, as in a snarl. Her eyes lifted and saw me. “She’s off the deep end,” she told me. “She’s trying to force me to kill her.”

            I looked at Kayla in dismay. “I thought you said I had nine hours.”

            “I did,” Kayla said, straightening up. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to apply some _pressure._ ” She rounded on Zach again; he half raised his umbrella, taking a step back towards Izzy.

            “I don’t want to use Phantom Dancer,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

            “Then perhaps you should leave,” she said, surly.

            “Use _what,_ Zach?” I said.

            He blinked at me and lifted his umbrella in explanation. “Uh, Caehl wanted to name my umbrella, cause she thinks it’s cool. I think the name is from a video game? I’m not really sure _why_ she wanted to name it, but I think it was helping her calm down, so…” We were all looking at him. He laughed a quick, nervous laugh. Wrapping both hands around Phantom Dancer’s lowered canopy, he turned his attention back to Kayla and said, “Look, can you just stop antagonizing Izzy?”

            “Absolutely not,” she said brightly.

            I sighed, turning my frown in her direction. “You said you would give me some time. Stop trying to bend the rules.”

            “Well I’m still _alive,_ aren’t I?” she said to me, gesturing at herself. “I simply wanted to talk to my dear sister for a moment. But it seems she’s enlisted herself a _bodyguard_. If anyone’s being antagonistic, it’s the two of them.”

            “Fine,” Izzy said, stepping abruptly forward. “How’s _this_ for antagonistic?”

            She shoved her gun in the direction of Zach’s chest. He took it from her out of sheer surprise. She then pulled at her pockets, revealing them to be empty, and said, “Now I have no weapons. How’m I supposed to kill you now, huh?”

            “We can get creative,” she said flatly.

            Izzy was ignoring her now. Attention on Zach, she said to him, “Look, you mostly seem to not be an idiot. Kayla’s bodyguard idea wasn’t a bad one. Would you mind _actually_ guarding my door for me? I’d appreciate it if you did.”

            “With your gun?” he asked, looking down at it.

            “Or your Phantom Dancer thing, or whatever,” she said, waving her hand. “It doesn’t matter to me, just so long as _I_ don’t have any weapons.”

            I frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

            “Who cares?” she said, stepping into her cell and slamming the door shut.

            Kayla let out a huff. Jaw clenched, Zach turned around to face her and stood at the ready, pocketing Izzy’s gun. His expression was one of consternation, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to back down from his assigned task. “Please respect Izzy’s wishes,” he said to Kayla.

            “You’re running out of time,” Kayla said, pointing her finger at me sharply before sauntering off.

            I was quiet for a moment, considering the scene that remained. Zach was standing resolutely in front of Izzy’s iron door, both hands on Phantom Dancer’s lacquered crook with the tip resting on the ground, as if it were a staff or a walking stick. His eye followed Kayla until she was out of sight, and then drifted towards me.

            “Is everything alright?” he asked in earnest. “Uh—beyond the obvious, I mean.”

            “Yeah, it’s fine,” I said. “Are you really going to guard Izzy’s door?”

            He seemed to struggle with his answer. “She asked me to. And… I want to help.”

            I wasn’t sure of how to respond to that. Finally I said, “If you’re sure.”

            He nodded, and with that I made my departure back to Halley’s cell. The door still loomed open, thankfully undisturbed by all of the action I’d just witnessed. For a moment I was made nervous by the idea that Kayla could have seen it, but then I realized that Olivia was watching to avoid such a catastrophe. With a deep breath and a check over my shoulder, I proceeded into the darkness.

            As the lights came on, my eyes adjusted onto a barren countryside. Stark, grassy flatland spread in all directions, the roiling shapes of hills visible in the near distance. Olivia and I were standing under the shadow of a tall and unassuming steel-plated warehouse, the roof as flat and metallic as the walls; it looked more a box than a building, sitting stock and low in the lemony grass. It was sundown. Stars had begun to make their appearance amid a cool purple-gray sky. Despite the plain nature of this place, something about the openness of it struck me as dangerous and exposed: I felt as if I was being watched.

            “Where are we?” I asked Olivia. I couldn’t see Izzy or Kayla or anyone around us.

            She kept a careful eye on me. “This place belongs to Junko.”

            “The warehouse? But it’s in the middle of nowhere.”

            “Exactly,” she said. She smiled at me in earnest. “Junko had a lot of different bases during the war. Her records show that she used this one a lot—it needed to be out of the way in order to avoid sabotage.”

            “What was she doing here?”

            “It’s better if I let Izzy show you,” she said.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _The moors got deadly quiet around this time of night. So quiet that with the eyes closed and the head pressed to the earth, one could hear the sound of a car or two whisking across the highway three miles north. Izzy had done this once or twice on her nightly watches. Not often, and never for very long. Just long enough to remind her that she wasn’t the only thing alive out here._

_She never thought herself as much of a sentimentalist, but like anyone she could have her moments. Moments like now, for example, where after weeks of planning she was finally ready to enter Junko’s fortress. Or moments where she thought of Kayla before her capture. Slow-spoken, careful, watchful. Full of humor but always on guard. Izzy could never forget the look of her as she was swept up by Junko Enoshima herself and thrown into the back of a car. That was the last time Izzy had seen her sister in person. It was a memory she planned on avenging._

_The two of them had been the first of anyone they knew to be extorted by the war—but unfortunately, everything had spiraled apart near immediately after. Kayla was captured by Junko outside of their home. Then Zach left home on some sort of expedition with Malcolm. Then Ohanzee’s home town was raided and he was only saved by intervention from Jason and the army. They were all too busy or too far away or in too much danger to help Izzy rescue her sister. Which had hardly come as a surprise. It wasn’t like she was the most enjoyable person out of her friend group. She didn’t agree with everyone as readily as her fellows; her opinions differed and she was vocal about them. Her status influenced her relationships. Long ago she had thought those things to be mutually exclusive, but time had taught her better._

_She didn’t resent anyone, though. Some of them genuinely had very good reason to not be lying in the grass alongside her right now. And those that didn’t… well, they were only acting on what seemed logical and reasonable. At the very least they acted on self-preservation, and after all who didn’t? She could hardly blame someone for being sensible._

_Sensibility wasn’t going to bring Kayla back from Junko’s clutches, however. No, to do that, Izzy knew she would have to take risks. As it turned out, the primary risk involved was actually breaking into one of Junko’s primary bases. As to why this warehouse was a primary base, as to what it was used for… no one knew. Finding it alone had been difficult; Junko was hard to track, and few people were brave enough to report sightings. But over the period of a month, Izzy had slowly pieced together the narrative of this strange place: it had been commandeered and brought to relevance a few days after Kayla’s capture. Junko visited it at least once a week, often more. It seemed to be primarily run by someone other than her—but who this person could be, or what they were doing in this warehouse, or why they had taken Izzy’s sister from her… all of this was unknown._

_Today, Izzy hoped to answer some of those questions. She had spent a good week staking out this place for the comings-and-goings of its inhabitants; it seemed likely to her that Junko would be present today. At first this had seemed like a good reason to find another day to sneak in, but upon reconsideration Izzy decided to risk it. She wanted her sister back, but she also wanted information. No matter what, she would not leave this place tonight empty-handed._

_Junko was clever; the exposed nature of this warehouse made it more or less impossible to sneak up on it. Izzy had found a hiding place along the back of the building, however. Few people exited or entered during the day; most any activity took place at night. She had approached a few hours ago, at a time when she figured it was least likely for someone to look out the window and see her. So far she had yet to be disturbed, so she could only believe that she had gone unseen._

_As the last rays of sunlight disappeared beyond the endless horizon, Izzy crept towards the side door along the back of the warehouse. Her limbs cracked and shifted as she stretched herself out laterally, half-moving out of her crouch. The door loomed above her, the long side of the building casting a heavy shadow over her as she knelt. She retrieved the lock pick from her pocket and carefully set to work._

_It took several minutes, and all the while she could do nothing but pray that she wouldn’t be noticed. Finally, mercifully, the door gave in underneath her and silently creaked inward. She paused, hands hovering above the opening, taut with suspicion._

_The door gave way to a long, narrow white hall. It looked like something one might see in a doctor’s office or the back of a Wal-Mart; the narrow halls where the public restrooms were hidden, between storage and show floor. Up ahead, there were a few closed doors on the left; then the hallway turned right. The fluorescent light at the end of the hall flickered occasionally, bathing the scene in yellow only to suddenly plunge it in gray. Izzy couldn’t see anyone in the immediate vicinity._

_She drew her gun from her side and stepped forward, running her thumb along the inscription on the weapon’s side. Her name, and that sea grave image. Its presence comforted her. Kayla had been in possession of her weapon when Junko took her; maybe Izzy would find it somewhere in this place?_

_She carefully, gently pressed her ear to each door as she passed it. Behind the first she heard the indistinct murmur of a conversation, too dull for her to pick up. Behind the second was silence; she cautiously cracked the door open and peered her head inside to see what appeared to be an office. Everything in the room was plain, organized: a steel desk, a white lamp, white chairs with plastic slips, and a neat little stack of manila folders. On the wall was a framed painting of the ocean that had been spray-painted over with different swatches of pink, the offending cans stacked carefully on the edge of the desk—someone seemed to be having trouble choosing a color._

_Izzy heard nothing behind the third door, either; but when she opened it she was greeted by the backs of several despair soldiers, their heads low around a table in the center of the room. She figured it must be a break room, but couldn’t get a very good view as she hastened to close the door. At that point, still unnoticed and eager to not be interrupted by whoever was talking in the first room, Izzy quickly skirted down the hallway to the right._

_The hallway extended for a brief stretch before unceremoniously cleaving in two; she took the left path at random, and came to a small metal door at the end of the hall. She couldn’t hear any sound on the other end, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone silent waiting in store. Still, exposed as she was out here in the hall, she decided to risk proceeding through._

_She found herself in a small prison of sorts. Lines of little, square-ish white holding cells sat along both sides of the door. There was no other entryway at the other end of the room, but Izzy wasn’t about to leave. This seemed like a likely place to keep her sister, didn’t it? She began poking her head through each of the tiny square ports in the doors, bars blocking her from getting very close. The first two were empty. The second two were empty. But in the third row, on the right, was a girl._

_This stranger had her head lowered, short and messy red hair falling over her face. She was on her feet in the cell, leering in front of the metal bed with her hands up to her chest, wavering, swaying back and forth as though in a breeze. Izzy came to a halt when she looked into her cell. For a moment, both were quiet. The cell was dark, and Izzy could see very few of the girl’s features. She was wearing shorts and a tank top. Her skin looked dirty and scratched._

_“H… Hello?” she finally said to Izzy. “Who are you?”_

_“Who are you?” Izzy retorted, voice low._

_“Halley,” she said._

_Izzy’s nose wrinkled. “Halley Lador? But I thought you were safe. I didn’t know you’d been captured. Someone should have made a post on the boards.”_

_“I’d… never posted on the boards before,” she said, still swaying in that breeze, still with her head lowered. “I don’t think your other friends know me very well. It’s no surprise that… that no one said anything. I-Is everyone okay?”_

_“For the most part,” she said, eyes darting around the small cell. There was little to see of note: the metal bed, chained to the wall; a small bucket, full of dark water; what looked to be a towel strewn across the dusty metal floor. Halley stood in the middle, her head low, her face eclipsed in shadow._

_“Did Junko capture you?” Izzy asked her._

_She nodded rapidly. “It wasn’t long ago. Just a week or two. Sh… She… She—She’s very cruel and sporadic. Worse than she was in the games. She gets—impatient very quickly, and, and…”_

_Izzy half-shook her head in confusion. “What has she been doing to you?”_

_“She’s testing something,” Halley said. “Some sort of drug. She keeps injecting me with different things, but none of them are working. She said—she said she’s trying to force me to become Super High School Level Despair.”_

_She grimaced through the bars. “Gross. But it hasn’t worked?”_

_Halley shook her head. “No, not yet. It—it makes her mad. Really mad. Can you… I know we never knew each other before now, but… but could you get me out of here? Please, please, I…”_

_“Yeah, sure,” Izzy said, waving her hand. “No problem. I just need to find my sister first. She was kidnapped too.”_

_“What… was her name? Kayla?”_

_“Yeah, that’s the one.”_

_“Junko has mentioned her… o-once or twice. I don’t know where she is, but I think she’s in this building somewhere. I… I’ve never gotten to leave this cell, so…”_

_Izzy nodded. Confirmation like that sounded good to her ears. That said, Halley’s voice wasn’t quite as pleasant to hear: she sounded strange, as though some of her syllables were getting stuck together. Izzy shook the thought away. “Let me just find Kayla, and then I’ll come back for you. That’s a promise.”_

_“I couldn’t… come with?”_

_She hesitated, frowning into the cell. “I have a lockpick, but that’ll take some time. If someone sees me… I can’t guarantee that I would be able to save anyone, then.”_

_“But it’s equally as dangerous if you…” Halley stopped herself suddenly, wavering, swaying. Her fingers clenched and unclenched. “Okay,” she murmured. “But be careful. I believe Junko has someone working with her, but I don’t know who it is. Someone dangerous, I think.”_

_Izzy nodded before stepping away from the cell. There was no one else in the area; cautious, she proceeded back towards the hall and, finding it empty, took the right fork this time._

_There were a number of doors down this way. She dared to poke her head through a few at random, but behind most found nothing more than storage areas or offices. What had this warehouse been used for before Junko arrived? Was it storage for some farmers, some landscapers, some sort of organization…? Izzy had no answers, despite the questions that occasionally drifted to the surface of her mind._

_Eventually her examinations led her to the door at the end of the hall. It was a singular metal door, and something about its hard, shiny paneling made it stand out from its fellows. She almost forgot to check for sound before heading through—but when she did, she heard none. The room on the other side was unexpectedly spacious, and appeared to have once been some sort of main hall or entryway. After a moment her eyes caught a somewhat familiar door—the front entrance, which she had only ever seen from the other side. Nodding to herself at this discovery, she took a closer look around._

_In the middle of the room was a long, large table that was difficult for the eye to avoid; it was, after all, covered in a number of different unusual instruments. There were about 15 different syringes, all of different sizes, accompanied by even more needles that lay together in a long white box. The rest of the table’s generous space was taken up by what appeared to be an ongoing chemistry experiment—a Bunsen burner was bringing a neon pink liquid to boil, a long line of flasks held chemicals of increasingly tenuous color, and tiny jars contained an endless assortment of individual solvents. Behind the table, along the far wall, was a metal sink and counter; half-empty vials and used needles floated in a pool of purple-stained water in one of the sink basins. The rest of the room was more normal; a long desk covered in papers and notes sat to Izzy’s left, and a row of filing cabinets and drawers lay to her right. The front entrance was on the right wall, and two additional doors lay on either side of the sinks on the far wall._

_Izzy had only barely managed to digest all of this before she dimly heard the sound of muffled voices approaching from behind her. People were coming this way. Her limbs twitched, hands rising with the desire to act. The two far doors could contain more people beyond them, and the exit was the last place she wanted to go—the safest option was to hide. Moving quickly, she ran to the desk and past the chair, ducking under and curling herself into the small space._

_No sooner had she propped her feet up against the paneling that the door swung open. Heavy boot thunks were accompanied by the rhythm of a conversation. An uncomfortably familiar voice with a heavy Japanese tilt was speaking._

_“And the bombings, right? The bombings all over the east side. Those were good at first, but I’m starting to think it isn’t enough. People are getting used to that kind of treatment, you know? They know what to expect now.”_

_“Right,” a second voice responded, following the owner of the first. This one also sounded familiar to Izzy, but in a different way that she couldn’t immediately place._

_“It’s just so boring,” the first said, boots coming to rest next to the far left side of the table. “That’s what it is. Watching all these people get blown to smithereens, get ripped apart en masse… that only works two or three times. Then you’re used to it. Then it’s boring. People will say it’s sad and it’s a tragedy, but if it doesn’t directly affect them then they don’t really care. They’re used to it now.”_

_“But how do we make it worse?”_

_“We need to get more specific,” Junko said. “More deliberate. Target individuals instead of cities or organizations. We need to show every person in the world, no matter how small or unimportant they might be, that they can easily fall to despair.”_

_Izzy’s gun was clutched to her chest, her feet pressed against the inner wall of the desk. She couldn’t see anything. It was clear that the first person talking was Junko, but despite the familiarity she had no way of confidently identifying the second. The gun was warm in her palm. If she rolled out from under the table, it would be quick: two shots. It wouldn’t keep Junko down for long, but it might be enough. This other person… This other person, though…_

_“What about me?” they asked._

_Junko sighed, suddenly forlorn. “What, you’re saying you aren’t affected by all of this? Seeing the people you love in pain and fear isn’t enough? I should have known. A fake person like me would never be able to satisfy the depths of your real despair. How hopeless, to know that I can never be good enough.”_

_“No, it’s not that,” the other said sharply, with the exasperation of someone going through a familiar routine. “I’m… I am… I know what I am now. I just… If we could just finish the drug, then I would be strong enough to end this.”_

_She laughed, tone now low and heavy. “The longer we spend doing nothing, the more it hurts you, right? The more you’re ripped up inside at the idea that everything is falling apart. The more it feels like reality is crashing down around you. Ah, the pain of inaction—the hope of every new drug, dashed away into despair each time it fails! Such suffering is simple, but exquisite.”_

_Izzy leaned forward and took a sidelong glance around the corner of the desk just in time to see Junko’s companion nod their head. Izzy’s eyes widened in surprise. She dared to poke her head even further around the corner, just to make sure she could believe what she was seeing. Sure enough, Momo was standing in front of the table, an apron wrapped around their middle. They looked just as they always had in pictures; hair short and curly, features soft and caramel-colored. The difference was numerous bandages on their arms, shoulders, and even face. The difference was a darkness in their eyes, something immaterial yet undeniably present._

_“This new one… I think it works,” they were saying as Izzy studied them. “The reaction Kayla had wasn’t exactly what we’re looking for, but she’s so fucked up at this point that it’s hard to tell.”_

_Junko walked a bit closer to the table, pausing to look over her shoulder at Momo with one hand drawn across her face, eyes low. A stereotypical anime pose. “What are you suggesting? A new test subject?”_

_“I think we should try it on Halley,” they said. “I think it will be enough to turn her into Super High School Level Despair.”_

_She didn’t break her pose as her eyes dropped down to the Bunsen burner on the table. “This one?”_

_“Yes.” Momo grabbed a pair of tongs off of the table and gently took the bright pink mixture off of the heat, holding it up. “This is the second batch—”_

_Before they could get any further, Junko’s hand dropped from her face. Expression unbroken, she dipped a finger into the beaker, flesh audibly sizzling, and then slowly and deliberately brought it up to her mouth to taste. A smile briefly cracked her façade. When she drew her finger away from her lips, it had already healed over._

_“It tastes horrible,” she said._

_“It’s supposed to go in the bloodstream.” They looked pointedly down at the bandages on their arms._

_“Boring! Let’s go pour it down Halley’s throat. If it doesn’t kill her, then it’s sure to have the desired effect.”_

_“Sure, but…” The way Momo gripped the tongs seemed almost protective. “If it works, there needs to be enough left for me.”_

_“Right, whatever. Prepare two doses, then.”_

_Momo set to work at the counter. Junko watched them, with arms crossed, for no less than half of a second before seeming to lose interest. She turned to the side, eyes lowering to the desk. Izzy quickly scrambled back under it. Her viewpoint was limited from here, but she could clearly see Junko’s lacquered red nails as they flicked through the papers on the desk. She hadn’t realized how tall Junko was; she leered above the desk, eyes gleaming darkly, almost red. Her well-groomed appearance and erratic demeanor made it easy to overlook her obvious strength; the way with which she let each paper drop was aggressive, almost brutish. Izzy felt the desk whine when Junko’s other hand gripped its side._

_She seemed satisfied with something she’d discovered and moved away from the desk with a collection of papers. Izzy did not yet move, reluctant to potentially draw more attention in her direction. She heard Junko occasionally let out a sigh, or a scoff, or a laugh, at whatever she was reading. This was often accompanied by the clinking of glass as Momo worked._

_“Okay, done,” Momo said._

_“Finally!” Junko cried in a gasp. “I was just about to die again from how long you were making me wait. Let’s go already.”_

_Izzy heard a rustle as the papers were returned to their desk. Then their footsteps retreated, and the door clanged shut. She let out a breath—but that was the only moment of respite she allowed herself. Then she was on her feet again, scanning the room._

_The Bunsen burner had been turned off and the beaker, now half-emptied of the pink liquid, was sitting on the table next to it. At least one syringe was missing; Izzy wondered if they actually did plan on pouring that stuff down Halley’s throat. A sense of panic was slowly working its way through her. She needed to be quick._

_She turned her attention back to the desk—the papers that Junko had just abandoned proved to be a collection of test reports of various mixtures. Date, mixture number, and result were recorded on each page, along with a small picture of the liquid to show its color and consistency. All were handwritten and signed by Momo. Most of the initial tests were pretty straightforward, with little to no reaction at all—but things began to vary wildly as they proceeded. Some described the subject becoming agitated and uncontrollable, as if deranged; others caused the subject to become mute, as though in shock; some resulted in symptoms indicative to those of seizures, or dissociative identity disorder, or schizophrenia, or even heart attacks. A few actually seemed to produce the desired result: “the subject began to display an infatuation with despair…” only for the affect to fade shortly after, or degrade into something else entirely._

_The final page described a test with the pink liquid sitting in front of Izzy. It appeared to have been successful. “For the past 24 hours, the subject has consistently displayed the behaviors of a Super High School Level Despair. She frequently alternates between laughing and crying at her situation, describing the pain of it as ‘brilliant.’ She has thanked me multiple times for ruining her ‘so perfectly’, only to promptly begin screaming at me to leave. That said, she has trouble talking and mostly babbles when she does; this is certainly a side-effect of build-up from all the previous tests.”_

_Izzy was beginning to get an idea of what was happening here. The picture it painted made her insides swim. She returned the test records to the desk and let her eyes sweep over it in search of anything that could disprove the inevitable truth. Eventually she lighted upon one file that stood out in particular—it quickly revealed itself to be a student profile of sorts for Momo: or, as the page stated, Leo Collins._

_The picture of them in the corner of the file showed a more boyish profile than usual. Izzy had always known Momo as Momo, but was she somehow wrong? Was Leo the right name? Or was Leo a name that Momo was hiding, and Junko had forcibly brought to the surface? Either answer seemed just as likely. As Izzy stood there staring at this picture of a half-stranger named Leo, she found that she was questioning herself. She’d never known them all that well. Why had they joined Junko’s side? Why were they hurting people—hurting themselves—with these drugs? Why were they forcing their friends to become Super High School Level Despair? Why did this file say Leo? Izzy feared that she might never know the answers to these questions._

_Their bandages certainly told a story. A story of false hopes; of drugs that almost worked, only to suddenly expire a few hours later. Despair-filled fights with needles and veins. And Halley, hiding her face in the prison cell, and Junko, healing her finger as quickly as it burned, and Kayla… Did Momo enjoy this work? Or was it all a front? Was there something that Izzy was missing?_

_She shook her head. She couldn’t get caught up in this. All that mattered right now was finding Kayla._

_Adjusting her grip on her gun, she approached the first door on the left. It was a heavy metal service door, with a big hydraulic switch. Behind the door she found a small storage freezer—not surprising. She made her way over to the right door. This one was also metal, but of a much more standard design. When she pressed her ear up against it, at first she couldn’t hear anything. But then she became aware of the sound of breathing. Very soft and very low. Common sense told her to flee, but instinct begged her to look inside. She heeded to the demand._

_On the other side of the door was a lot of things. One of them was Kayla._

_Kayla was tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the room, her head lowered in a slump and her hair dangling all about her face. Another sink lay on the wall to the left of Izzy; the wall behind her sister was a full-length mirror. The other two walls had a number of tables lining them, with various objects like discarded needles and half-finished pages of notes lying on them. The room was lit with glaring purple fluorescents, possibly even black lights. Izzy faintly noticed Kayla’s gun, the sister to her own, lying at the edge of the table on the far left of the room: but her attention was entirely taken up by Kayla. She could think about nothing else._

_At first glance, she didn’t seem to be all that hurt. The skin of her arms was swollen and pockmarked from needle pricks, but otherwise she seemed untouched. As Izzy took a few tentative, silent steps forward, however, she began to see more: Kayla was thin. Very thin. The skin of her limbs stretched over bone, and little else; the knobs of her elbows and knees stood out from the rest of her like extremities of their own. Her collarbone was a hard line drawn from shoulder to shoulder, a dark pen mark of shadow bruised over dry paper. Her head lolled from her bony neck—she still hadn’t raised it. Izzy was stricken. It had only been a month. How could someone possibly lose this much weight in a month?_

_She found her voice from a great distance; it sounded like a stranger’s when she spoke. “K…Kayla?”_

_The wraith tied to the chair slowly unbent her spine. Her hair drifted in heavy, dirty clumps around her face. Her eyes were half-closed, and fluttered when she saw Izzy. “Uh… huh. ‘Bout time you showed up,” she mumbled._

_“Kayla…” Izzy took the statement as sarcasm. Her eyes welled with the fear that she’d been biting back for four weeks, but she suppressed it. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” She fell to her knees, dropping her gun on the ground as she set to pulling apart the knots of rope binding her sister to the chair. “What did they do to you?” she said as she worked._

_Kayla laughed absently, in what must have been a relieved way. “Bit of this, bit of that,” she replied, still in that detached tone. “Bit of purple, bit of red. Rest of the rainbow too, on occasion. Red and purple’s quite a combination, though. You think they wouldn’t work together, just from the look, but you’d be surprised! Haha.”_

_“Nice,” Izzy said. This was just Kayla’s usual gambit, right? “But do you feel okay? I saw the test records. It looks like they did an awful lot of shit to you.”_

_“Oh, well,” she laughed again, hard enough to shudder a bit against the chair. “Can’t feel much at the moment. That’s been going on for a while now, you should understand. All warm with despair—can’t feel anything but! It’s that last syringe. Whatever they put it in really did something.”_

_Izzy grit her teeth. “It’s okay. We can fix it, okay? We’ll find a way to undo whatever the fuck Momo did.”_

_Kayla merely hummed in response. Izzy had undone the bonds around her arms by now, and was moving down to the legs when Kayla slumped unceremoniously forward, over Izzy’s back. “Kayla?” she yelped._

_“Hmm…? Oh, I was tied to that chair, wasn’t I? Aha, didn’t even notice.”_

_Izzy struggled to prop her upright again. “Kayla, please,” she managed through grit teeth. “You need to focus.”_

_“Focus…?” She half-lifted one skinny arm, where it dangled limply in her vision before dropping again. “Why are you untying me?”_

_“Because we’re going to get out of here!” Izzy yelled, exasperated._

_“Oh… haha. Nii-san, you must be mistaken. I’m dead.”_

_Izzy paused, frozen with her head against her sister’s paper shoulder. “What?”_

_“Well, about to be dead, at least. It’s just a matter of whether someone puts me out of my misery or not.”_

_“Don’t—Shut up. Don’t talk like that. I know this looks bad, but I came here to save you and that’s what I’m going to do.”_

_“Save a corpse? You never struck me as all that sentimental, sister.”_

_Izzy straightened up to look at her. The blacklit fluorescents reflected in Kayla’s eyes and made them glow like two purple rings. The rest of her seemed empty, devoid of color, despite how hard Izzy tried to ignore it._

_“I’m not leaving you,” Izzy said._

_“Oh, of course not,” her sister drawled. “It would be a waste if you came all this way for nothing. An absolutely… haha… despair-inducing waste.”_

_“Then what are you—”_

_Kayla gripped Izzy’s arm, her hand trembling from the effort despite how little pressure she managed to exert. “They broke me a few days in, nii-san. It didn’t take long. They think the key to despair—the key to no morality—lies in some drug, but it doesn’t. To truly send someone into despair, all you have to do is put them through what I’ve been through. But then—” Her expression wavered with a half-smile. “Well, then their mind would be too broken to accomplish their goals. There wouldn’t be enough left to spread.” Her grip began to go lax, limbs shaking. “I knew you would come. I knew you wouldn’t give up. That first week in, I decided I would wait for you, so I could ask you to do the only thing left for me.”_

_“What’s that?”_

_“You know what. Kill me, Izzy.”_

_The room was silent for a moment. Izzy grit her teeth. “Don’t be stupid,” she said._

_“On the contrary. I believe you’re being the stupid one.”_

_“I’m not going to—”_

_“I was Momo’s test subject, sister. That last drug worked—or worked well enough to satisfy them, at least. They have no reason to keep me alive any longer. I can’t move. You can’t carry me out of here. There’s hardly enough of me left to be worth saving, anyway—even if we do get out of here I’ll likely atrophy, either physically or mentally. The fact that I’m even… haha… even managing to get these sentences out is a miracle all its own. There’s not… there’s nothing left, do you understand? Nothing but the, haha, despair of my death.”_

_Izzy’s teeth were pressed so hard together that she thought they might shatter. “Why did Momo do this to you? Why would they…”_

_“To absolve themselves of guilt,” Kayla mumbled. “They want to do something horrible, something even worse than this, but they can’t do it while they have a conscience. So they’re forcing themselves to become Super High School Level Despair.”_

_“To do what? What the fuck are they going to do?”_

_Kayla’s glassy eyes slid up to meet Izzy’s. A drunken smile played at her lips. “Ha… I can’t tell you.”_

_“What?”_

_“I mean, I don’t want to tell you. The drugs, they—i-i-it’s like I can’t even think straight! Giving you such important information… why, that would be too easy. No, I’d rather see the despair on your face when I don’t tell you, when I make everything so much worse by failing to communicate. Haha—yes! Your expression, that’s what my head is begging me for—it’s like this adrenaline kick. Do you see, nii-san? There’s not much left of me to save.”_

_Izzy was speechless._

_Kayla let out a shuddering breath, looking away. “You could save so many lives… do so much good… but no, instead I’m making you end a life. What despair is that! Ha—n-n-no, that’s not the point. The point is that I want to die. That I can’t live like this anymore. Do you understand? I’m in so much pain.”_

_“Kayla…”_

_Kayla had spoken these last words in a solemn, calm manner, her head slumped against the back of the chair. She did not say anything more now, her shining eyes shaking as they fixed on the wall._

_Izzy was aware that she didn’t have much time left. Entropy was a vice around her neck; every second was another heartbeat closer to failure. If Junko or Momo captured her, what would happen? She had no way of knowing. Seeing her sister like this, nearly empty of life, she almost wanted it to happen. She almost wanted to give up._

_Kayla was right. Even as light as she was, her body would be too much of a burden to successfully carry out of the warehouse. Even if they did make it outside, the building was surrounded by flatland: the sight of her lumbering through the night with a half-corpse over her back would be unavoidable. Kayla herself was clearly lucid, with her head bobbing and lolling on occasion and her eyes rolling around as though trying to remember where she was. Her mental state was unstable at best. Leaving her here was the ultimate cruelty, even worse than killing her, and therefore not an option. And Kayla had been given the opportunity to express her own opinion—now Izzy simply had to decide if she was going to see it through._

_Izzy’s eyes found her gun on the ground. She picked it up and cocked it, quickly, before she could lose the nerve. The sound brought Kayla to attention like a bell. Her eyes whipped over, bright and shaking. Her gaze was filled with enrapture, as though the sound of the gun was a symphony that could save her. She stared at it with a kind of hopeful desperation._

_Izzy was not allowing herself to cry or scream. In retaliation, her body had broken out in a cold sweat. The gun felt like ice in her hands, the metal cold and unyielding to her touch. This was different. This was wrong. She pointed the gun at Kayla and then immediately lowered it, horrified by the visual that aiming had provided._

_Kayla laughed, then cut herself off with a sob. “You look… so hopeless.”_

_The eyes that studied Izzy were the eyes of a stranger. Had she ever known her sister? She wanted to believe that she had known her—or at the very least had been close to knowing her. But it was hard to know a person as secretive as her—a person as pensive as her, a person as thoughtful as her, a person as dark as her. Kayla had always been like a mirage in the desert, shifting in front of Izzy’s eyes as the sands shifted to make rivers and seas. Had she ever known her sister? No, she hadn’t. Her sister was a half-stranger as Momo was—a puzzle that Izzy was two steps away from solving, but hadn’t the time to see through to the end. When Kayla spoke to her now, was it the weight of despair speaking for her? Or was it truly the voice of her sister, truly speaking to her without filters, without anything to hide behind? Even now, Izzy couldn’t tell._

_Though Kayla’s gaze shook, it did not leave Izzy._

_Izzy raised the gun again. She kept her finger off of the trigger. She wasn’t aiming, she was just looking. The barrel looked slick in the side of her vision: it pointed at her sister’s head like an arrow, like a purple line on a map, directing Izzy to the destination. She extended her arm out, meeting point A to point B. There was a foot or so of space between the barrel and her head. The bullet, if shot, would make the rest of the journey on its own. Kayla’s eyes did not leave Izzy._

_“Shit,” Izzy spat. She was tense all over. She turned and threw her gun against the wall, then stood there, arms lowered, breathing, expressionless._

_“I would do it for you,” Kayla murmured behind her. “But I can hardly lift my arms.”_

_Izzy’s eyes burned red. She waited until it passed before making another move. She strode to the table and picked up Kayla’s gun. She wondered how long it had laid there for, untouched until now. She cocked it and pointed it at Kayla—but this distance, from the table, felt like too much. It felt wrong. She lowered the gun and walked to where she had been standing before, in front of Kayla, and then aimed again. Kayla’s eyes followed her every move._

_After a moment standing like this, Izzy realized her hand was shaking. She gripped the other over the gun to steady herself._

_“I’m sorry,” Kayla said. Her eyes were half-closed, like they’d been when Izzy first entered._

_“I don’t know… what to say to you,” Izzy breathed._

_“I don’t know what to say, either. Just that it hurts. So… Thank you.”_

_“I’m sorry too.” Izzy’s teeth gnashed together._

_Kayla nodded._

_Izzy was used to the pullback of these guns. She instinctively brought one hand up to her face to block the spattering of gore—but thankfully, it wasn’t much. Most of it went backwards, across the mirror. Izzy could see where the bullet had dented the surface, sending scattered ringlets of broken glass all across the mirror, like ripples in a pond. Ripples, but frozen forever._

_She did not look down at Kayla’s body. She told herself she wasn’t going to look. Calm, she knelt to look for her gun, and found it resting along the wall opposite the mirror. She picked it up in her left hand, Kayla’s in her right. Their guns were loaded with tracer bullets—they sent purple streaks arcing through darkness, to help them see and find their targets. The purple flare of the bullet left dark spots in Izzy’s vision: that was the reason her eyes were watering. She blinked several times._

_There was no time to mourn; no time for anything. She pushed the door open with her elbow, only to see Junko standing there._

_Junko studied Izzy with sparkling eyes, looking at once surprised and pleased. “I thought I heard someone sneaking around here,” she said with a smile. “I had hoped it would be you. That look of despair on your face… Your sister is dead, isn’t she? And you were the one who… Ahahaha, how wonderful! I hadn’t thought I would get a chance to bring despair like th—”_

_Izzy shot her in the head. Her body crumpled against the far wall, next to the door. She lowered the gun and shot her again, and then again. Her hands weren’t shaking anymore. She emptied the entire cartridge of Kayla’s gun into Junko’s stomach, fully aware that each and every bullet meant nothing—that Junko would still get up only a short while later, completely unscathed._

_By the time she’d finished, the door that she’d found this place through had swung open. Someone was standing in the doorway—it took Izzy a long moment to recognize her as Halley. Her head was still hidden in the shadow of the hallway, the gown she was wearing ripped and jagged. When she leaned forward to look around, Izzy could see the profile of her jaw. When she smiled, Izzy saw that her teeth had been sharpened to points. Had Junko done that? Or Momo? What else could they have done? Was Halley’s face…?_

_Halley had started laughing. Izzy remembered the drugs and realized that she was too late—she had lost two lives instead of one. She pointed her gun at Halley’s head, and Halley started laughing harder. Izzy’s hands shook again. Her spirit wavered. She instead pointed the gun at the beaker of solution on the table, blew it into pieces, and then bolted out the front door of the warehouse._

_She was about a hundred yards from the door before she could make sense of the distant shadow in the moonlight. It was a car. She slowed as she got closer, despair seeping into her bones: she saw Momo leaning against the driver’s door, calmly watching Izzy as she approached._

_Izzy came to a halt, pointing her gun at them._

_Momo laughed. “What are you doing worrying about me? I’m giving you a get-out-of-jail-free card, idiot.”_

_It was then that she realized: Momo had one arm crossed over the other, thumb slowly depressing a syringe full of bright pink liquid into their veins. Their eyes gleamed with something dark, something red and alive, something inhuman. They smiled at her. Their entire demeanor had flipped._

_“You haven’t changed anything,” they told her. “So I have no problem with letting you go.”_

_Izzy dared to keep her gun pointed at them. “What are you going to do? Now that you’re one of them?”_

_“The only thing I’m good for, obviously,” they said. Their eyelids lowered. “I’m bored of you. Get the fuck out.”_

_Izzy grit her teeth. Her finger wavered on the trigger. But Momo had been a friend once—at least in a distant sense, or half of a sense. Half a stranger, half a friend. All of her wavered, swaying in the night breeze like Halley in the shadows of her cell. Izzy lowered the gun and ran._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            I sighed, looking back at Olivia after the simulation had cut out. That had been just as unpleasant as any other simulation before it, but I was unfortunately getting used to that kind of thing. Shaking off the cold of Momo’s voice, I said to her, “If Kayla remembers, will the effect of those drugs kick in again?”

            “I don’t know,” Olivia said. “But it’s possible. That’s part of the reason I wanted to show you this.”

            “What are we going to do? If bringing her memories back means fucking up her brain…”

            “Then we’re in a very bad situation,” she finished for me. “I think it’s good that we’re trying to deal with Caehl, first. At the very least it will give us some time to think.”

            “I doubt a solution is going to come up.”

            She shrugged. “Still.”

            I was quiet for a moment, considering. “That was the last simulation, wasn’t it?”

            “I’ve prepared something short to show to Caehl, but officially speaking… yes, that was the last simulation.”

            I narrowed my eyes at her. “Then what about all that stuff with Momo? They were planning something big, from the sounds of it. I mean… they’re basically the reason that Jake, Jillian, Dexter, and Halley all got their heads messed with. They made the drug or whatever, after all. So what happened to them? Did their plan work out? What did they do?”

            Olivia was silent for a moment, studying me. “I don’t know,” she said at length. “There’s no more simulations, and I’ve lost my memories of the war. Maybe someone who got their memories back could tell you. But… it’s not likely. As I understand it, Izzy never found out anything more than what you saw here. And seeing as how secretive Momo was… it’s unlikely that anyone living knows what they did.”

            “So we might never know,” I said, frowning.

            She sighed. “I suppose not. Anyway, we should probably go find Caehl. Gam is quite eager to get this over with.”

            I nodded. I didn’t flinch this time when the lights went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I've entered into this habit of naming every canonical weapon I buy. On a related note, I now own Phantom Dancer! It can't shoot darts, but it does have a hidden blade, so best two out of three ain't bad. I'll post pictures within the next update or two.
> 
> BONUS KILLS  
> THIS UPDATE: 0 (Today was a day of relative mercy)  
> TOTAL: 10


	30. 5.4 "Apotheosis of Sisterhood"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hang on, hang on:  
> Don't lose composure now.  
> Hang on, hang on:  
> Feed into the miracle!  
> Don't be fucking cynical.

Investigation

            “It’s just… are you all sure about this? I just want to make sure…”

            I frowned back at Caehl, my expression one of concern as we took the walk from the cafeteria back to the cells. Olivia was a few paces ahead of me, and she turned around to look as I did, her expression more muted than mine. Nikita took up the rear, her staff held behind her back in both hands, low across her hips. “I know it’s hard to believe, Caehl,” I said. “But it’s true. I promise.”

            “But to… to really forget a whole person? A friend?” She shook her head. “I just can’t believe it. What does—what does Gam think? She remembers me, right? So what does she…? Is she…?”

            “Maybe it will be better if you don’t think about it too much,” Olivia offered. “Gam will be meeting up with us soon, so then you can ask her yourself.”

            “I’m… not sure if I want to,” Caehl said. She fidgeted, bringing her hands up to her chest. “I mean, I don’t know what sort of things I’ve told her before. What she knows about me and stuff. What if I’ve been mean to her in the past, and I don’t even remember? It seems really unfair.”

            “To you?” Nikita asked.

            Caehl blinked in surprise. “No, no, of course not. To _her._ It must suck to have all those memories of me while I can’t remember any of it. That sort of thing would keep her up at night, wouldn’t it? I mean, assuming she actually cares about me. I-Is that too forward of me, to assume something like that? If I’m her tulpa, we probably cared about each other, right? But I wouldn’t want to open up the conversation with something like that. Getting into her feelings, I mean. I imagine she’s going to be very uncomfortable. I don’t want to make it worse. What sort of things does she like to talk about? Do any of you know?”

            I certainly didn’t, but luckily I wasn’t the only one here. “Video games,” Olivia said.

            Caehl nodded, half to herself. “Okay. I like video games, too. You know, I was helping Aaron and Zach name their weapons earlier. To try and take my mind off of things. I named them both from League of Legends. Does Gam know anything about that?”

            Olivia shot her another sidelong glance. “Okay, this naming coincidence is starting to get a little weird.”

            “What?” Caehl said.

            She shook her head. “Gam knows _plenty_ about League. Trust me.”

            “Okay. Okay, that’s good. Sorry, I know I’m talking a lot. I… I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. I don’t know if you’d noticed that or not.”

            I shot her a grin. “Yeah, I did. It’s okay.”

            We’d reached the door to Caehl’s cell. Olivia turned to stand in front of it, facing the rest of us and studying the group with care. Something about her demeanor in that moment seemed overly formal, as if she were a teacher educating students rather than a friend. “So, Caehl,” she said after a pause. “Gam and I have modified your room so that we can show you a sort of… video inside of it. It’ll be a simulation, so it’ll look like it’s happening in real time. We want to show you a bit of your past with Gam, to see if that will jog your memory.”

            “But what about my room?” she asked, frowning at the door.

            “You hardly need it anymore,” she said. “We hope to have you out of here in an hour or two.”

            “Okay.” She bobbed her head a little, eyebrows crossed in a semi-suspicious look. Her gaze drifted down to the hard gray floor, almost morose. “And what if… What if it doesn’t work out?”

            “We have alternative options,” I told her quickly. “None of them are as good, but… We can talk about what you want to do at that point. The choice is yours.”

            “You mean… either killing me, or wiping everyone’s memories.”

            I grimaced. “Well… yeah. But you really shouldn’t worry about that unless we have to.”

            Caehl nodded, now somber beyond a doubt.

            Our party had to wait for a short time before Gam appeared. I was seeing her for real, in the flesh now, instead of some sort of hologram—the difference wasn’t visually noticeable, but it left an impression on me regardless. She had her cloak off, but save for this her appearance was the same: Bloodthirster and the usual AK-47 were slung over her back by a long, black leather strap. Her gaze shifted rapidly around the group in front of her, looking at everything except Caehl. For Caehl she spared only quick glances, never at the eyes—she kept looking at me and Olivia in particular, as though searching for assistance.

            As she walked up, she said, “Hi.”

            Caehl looked at all of us. I smiled helpfully. She said, “Uh, hi.”

            There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Gam fidgeted. “Are we uh… ready to do this, or…?”

            “Well—um, yes, I think so,” Caehl said quickly. “I mean, from what I’ve been told, yes. But—but first, I just wanted to say, um… It’s just…” She shifted. Whatever she’d originally planned on saying had apparently been lost. Instead she managed, “I, um, like your hat.”

            Gam blinked. “Th… Thanks. You’ve told me that before.” They stared at each other. Gam forked a finger out at Caehl, movements compulsive. She was pointing out the hat on _her_ head; the wide brim, the gold decorations. “I… like yours too. It’s from JoJo. You, uh, remember JoJo, right?”

            “Yes.”

            “We used to watch it together.” Gam’s eyes narrowed. “You probably _don’t_ remember that.”

            “No,” Caehl said. “I remember watching it alone. Is that not true? Is that, like, a fake memory? I never thought about it that way, but I guess I would _have_ to have fake memories if a bunch of real ones had been taken. To fill in all the missing spaces, right? Except if you weren’t there, maybe my brain just _told_ me that I was alone, just as an explanation. So that wouldn’t _really_ be a fake memory, would it? But it feels like… now that I’m thinking about it, there are a lot of holes. Just big chunks out of my days that I don’t remember. Obviously I don’t remember _any_ of this war people keep talking about, I mean before all that. Like…” Her expression softened, growing distant, as though she were studying something in the room that wasn’t there. “I remember going to the store just outside my neighborhood a lot. I would always be driving there, buying these gummy candies. I would hardly ever eat them, or at least I don’t remember eating them. Why did I buy all those gummy candies? I keep thinking it must have been for you, right? Maybe that was something I would do to make you happy. Because you liked them. There’s lots of other things like that, things I only half remember. If I try to put all those things together, it’s like I can sort of see the truth forming. Like I took a picture of a scene, but the only thing in the picture is shadows, no actual objects. Does that make sense? It’s like my memory is filled with shadows of you, covering up all the white spaces. I… I-I’m sorry, I’m rambling again.”

            Gam seemed to have gone briefly catatonic, her eyes wide as though looking into the white lights of an oncoming bus. She recovered with a shake of her head. “It—it’s fine, you do that a lot, it’s… I’m used to it. It’s nice to listen to you talk. I mean—that’s not…” She shook her head again. “Olivia, can we get this fucking thing started already?”

            “If you’re sure,” Olivia said. Her expression was soft, watching the scene with a vague sense of exhaustion, as though it were something ancient and nostalgic and precious to her.

            “Sorry,” Caehl repeated.

            “No, stop, it’s fine.” Gam put a hand out to her and immediately dropped it. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m… I’m happy you’re here. I don’t want to scare you off.”

            “Why would you?” she said, her hands at her chest.

            Gam’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “I feel like I’m gonna say something wrong, you know?” She shook her head. “Like I have to make you like me all over again…”

            There was a moment of silence. “I-Is that… Would that be difficult?”

            “Maybe,” Gam said through grit teeth. “Just… don’t worry about it for now, alright? It’s my own shit. If we can get your memories back, then… Let’s just get this over with, okay? It’s all gonna be fine.”

            Olivia nodded, as though this had confirmed something for her, and then pulled open the door to Caehl’s cell. Caehl was clearly nervous, but, being the person closest to the door, she didn’t hesitate for long before proceeding through. Gam followed quickly after. I didn’t move immediately, glancing back at Nikita.

            “Hey…” I said.

            She stared at me, attentive.

            “Could you guard the door?” I asked after a hard pause. Why was it suddenly so difficult to look her in the eyes? “I’ve told everyone what we’ll be doing, so I don’t think anyone will try to interrupt us, but… Well, you never know. I just want to be safe.”

            Nikita nodded once in affirmation. “Take your time. I promise I will protect this place.”

            I headed through the door with Olivia, Nikita taking up her post behind me. I was used to the unnatural darkness before a simulation, but Caehl wasn’t. As the door closed she let out a slight hum and I found her shoulder in the darkness, squeezing it. She fell silent. For an uncomfortably long moment, everything was still and black—then the lights came on, brighter than usual.

            We were in an oaken, cabin-like room. Heavy-colored curtains covered the floor, and rugs were hung from the walls at intervals. All of them had jagged, geometric patterns and unfamiliar shapes of dancing figures with flutes and stringy hair; all colored in reds and whites and browns—they were Native American, or at least pretending to be. Figurines and trinkets of similar design sat on the closed piano in the far corner of the room, or the dresser beneath the window that was open to a cold-looking forest landscape. Candles rested in clumps on the coffee table and whatever other empty spaces remained, most lit and wavering steadily. The front door sat to my far right, where the layout ducked into a small and equally paraphernalia-laden hall. To my left, a staircase led upwards to a closed, white-wooden door. It was clear by the thick gouges and marks left on the guard rail that some sort of struggle had taken place here in the past.

            “Where are we?” I asked, turning in a slow circle.

            “My hideout,” Gam said, a note of surprise in her voice. She shot a look at Olivia. “What are you showing her, exactly?”

            “A scene just before the mutual killing started,” she said plainly. “What Junko _had_ prepared for your simulation was significantly longer. It showed this whole montage of your experiences at the campsite, Caehl… and it ended with your death. All that felt a little unnecessary and overwhelming for our purposes, so I cut it down to something simpler. I think what you’ll see here will be enough to jog your memory.”

            “I… I don’t know,” Caehl murmured. “I don’t recognize this room, so…”

            “Just give it some time,” Gam said, tone soft and unexpectedly careful.

            I was still frowning at the room. “I didn’t know you were into Native American shit, Gam.”

            “Huh? No, no, this building belonged to someone else before me. How you see it here is how I found it.” She raised her head, looking towards the battered staircase. “This place isn’t far from the campsite, so I think it was some sort of private cabin for the original owners. By the looks of things, I’d bet they came here to try an’ hide when the enemy attacked them. But Junko found ‘em, and…” She pointed near the leg of one of the chairs in the room. “See, there’s still some blood here. I think she came here and fuckin’ ganked ‘em all.”

            “All that work just to start this mutual killing?” I said, frowning.

            “It would make more sense if you had your memories back,” Olivia offered. “Junko doesn’t immediately seem very logical unless you’ve seen how she behaved in her original story.”

            Caehl listened to all of this in silence, watching us carefully. I’d deliberately been a bit vague about the whole “not real” thing when I was explaining the situation to everyone, so it was understandable that she’d find our dialogue questionable now. I wasn’t sure if lingering on the subject was a good idea; Olivia and Nikita were the ones who weren’t real, after all, so I figured if they wanted to be open about that then it was their choice.

            Olivia glanced at me, then over at Gam. “We’ll give you guys some space, okay? I’ll let it play, and you guys can just… watch. Talk, if you like. There’s no rules to this or anything, so just… approach it in whatever way feels natural.”

            It was clear that these directions were more intended for Caehl than they were for Gam. Picking up on it, Caehl nodded her head as encouragingly as she could muster considering the circumstances, then turned to Gam. Caehl walked up to her very slowly, with deliberate steps, her footing careful as though she were on a cliff side and feared of getting trapped between two rocks. In the interim, Olivia stepped back and ushered me to the corner of the room, to the right of the staircase.

            “I’m worried,” she murmured at me, and by her expression I knew it was true.

            “Because it might not work?” I whispered back.

            She nodded. “I don’t… want to hurt either of them. I want them to be happy.”

            “Me too,” I said. She cast a sidelong glance in my direction, eyes half-hidden behind her hair. There was something tense and troubled hidden in the brown of her irises, but I couldn’t get a good enough look to pinpoint what.

            She raised her voice and said, “Ready?”

            Gam was standing just next to Caehl, their arms almost touching but not quite. She looked back at Olivia and nodded.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _Despite having only been in the tiny house for a day or two, Gam had grown to be beyond comfortable with its layout. She near kicked the door to the stairway off its hinges before striding down the steps, being sure to hop over the broken one halfway down. Held carefully in both of her arms was a handwoven(?) wooden basket she’d found upstairs, now containing—or rather, flooded with—all manner of supplies necessary to make a half-decent disguise._

_Caehl followed more slowly, pausing at the top of the landing to monitor Gam’s descent before proceeding downwards herself. Her expression was one part morose, one part agitated, two parts concerned; her lips twisted into a sinewy line as she watched Gam take a seat in the big armchair, push some of the milky white candles out of the way, and plunk the basket down._

_Gam could feel the other Ponytore’s eyes on her back. She quietly and deliberately began removing items from the basket: foundation, makeup brushes, a hair brush, blush, the spare outfit folded at the bottom… and of course the all-too-important contacts. A hard find during wartime, but as the most famous duo in the entire resistance, Gam and Caehl had naturally amassed a hardy supply of materials for all sorts of disguises and deceptions. Really the contacts were all they needed; they could just switch her outfit and drop those in and that would be enough. The goal wasn’t to actually trick people. The goal was to trick people who wouldn’t know any better in the first place._

_Once every item had been placed with overt neatness onto the cool glass of the coffee table, she swung around in her chair to look at Caehl again. “What are you doing standing over there?”_

_Caehl stared. She opened her mouth, then closed it again._

_“We’ve been planning this for weeks now. What’s with the sudden change of heart?”_

_Caehl frowned. “Well… it’s just…”_

_Gam’s expression softened. She turned around fully in the chair, propping herself up with her knees on the seat. Her demeanor went more lax for Caehl’s sake. “What’s going on? It’s okay if there’s something wrong.”_

_“Well…” Caehl sighed stiffly. She walked past the armchair and around the table, sitting down in the chair across from it with her long legs crossed. “It’s just… you’re gonna think this is silly.”_

_“Oh, come on. You did this whole serious saunter across the room and sat down all like it was fuckin’_ business time _or some shit, like you were all ready to throw down the law, and now you’re not even gonna deliver?”_

_Caehl stifled a laugh behind one hand, not bothering to hide it very well. “I’m sorry. You really will think it’s silly, though.”_

_“I’m willing to take that risk.”_

_She sighed. “I just… I had a nightmare last night.”_

_“What happened?”_

_Caehl grimaced. “I don’t remember. It was just a really bad nightmare, so… so I have a bad feeling. That’s all. I woke up with a really bad feeling about all this.”_

_Gam frowned. “About the disguise?”_

_Caehl nodded. “I agree with you that something about this whole situation feels off—Tristan suddenly shows up on the message boards suggesting that we all meet up? After he’d been missing for a three-year-long war? And he’s calling himself Flynt now? It’s weird. But the fact that it’s weird is exactly why the idea of a disguise is giving me a bad feeling.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_She shook her head, bright eyes narrowing. “Meeting one weird thing with another weird thing doesn’t strike me as a plan that will produce good results.”_

_“I suppose so,” Gam said, taking her opinion seriously. “But you know what I’m going for here, right? If this ‘Flynt’ fucker actually_ is _Tristan, he should be able to recognize you as yourself. He’ll see right through the disguise. But if this asshole is faking…”_

 _“Then we’ll be able to tell right away, because he’ll think I’m really you,” Caehl said with a nod. “I get it, and it_ does _make sense. But I still have a bad feeling about the whole thing.”_

_“Well… Alright, I guess.” Gam leaned back. She looked down at the table; at the makeup stacked in a loose organizational structure, at the tiny white contact lens case. She looked up at Caehl again: Caehl, with her soft brown hair floating about her face and her eyes staring intently into Gam’s, watching her carefully for every movement, every flicker. “Do you have any alternative plans in mind?” Gam asked._

_“Not really,” she admitted._

_Gam sighed. “Okay, then how about I go as you? I think I’ve probably got a pair of contacts around here that are close to your eye color. Close enough, at least, so I can—”_

_“No,” Caehl said sharply. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”_

_She frowned in response. “Caehl…”_

_“I’m serious.” Caehl shook her head heavily, as though the weight of it was dragging on her. “I said I had a bad feeling, and that’s precisely why you’re the_ last _person I would ever send out there. And… And anyway, I didn’t say that I wasn’t going to do it. I just said I had a bad feeling about it.”_

_“If you think you’re in danger, we should call it off,” Gam said, tone flat. “That’s only sensible.”_

_“Sure, but… Like you said, something’s off about all this. We can’t just ignore it. Obviously_ one _of us is going, and it’s not going to be you, so—all that’s left to decide is whether I’ll be wearing a disguise or not.”_

_Gam was quiet for a long moment, staring at her sister—well, not her sister by blood. They were sisters in spirit, sisters in company; despite the lack of “true” relation, Gam would confidently and unabashedly define her relationship with Caehl as nothing less than the apotheosis of sisterhood. With capitals: Apotheosis of Sisterhood. A title. A destiny. Ponytores, the mighty rebels of the war; Ponytores, inseparable and undefeatable; Ponytores, the name that makes Junko herself nervous; Ponytores, the absolute, the ultimate, the epitome, the apotheosis._

_Of course, like anyone else on earth, the two had moments of dispute and disagreement. For her, these most often emerged when Caehl asserted her advanced age (and height) in an attempt to protect Gam. It wasn’t always Gam’s favorite position to be in. She knew she could defend herself adequately, and although she didn’t always feel as smart as Caehl she figured she had enough experience to work her way through most dangerous situations. But Caehl nevertheless insisted on protecting her._

_Truth be told, while one part of her fought viciously against it, another part of her was warmed by Caehl’s deep level of consideration. There was an aspect of her that would happily abandon all responsibility and hide under Caehl’s vast shield, protected and sheltered by the kindness of her sister. But she always shook away that idea in the bright white lights of the real world: she enjoyed fighting for humanity. The idea of defeating Junko once and for all sent a thrill up her spine; she would happily, without hesitation, be the one to put the final bullet (or sword, or whatever) into Junko’s head. And anyway, she wanted to protect Caehl just as much as Caehl wanted to protect her. So lying back and letting her sister do all the work simply wasn’t an option._

_“Well… shit,” Gam said finally. “Are you going to be comfortable with the disguise?”_

_Caehl laughed lightly. “It’s hardly a disguise. Just some makeup and an outfit change. But, yes, I’m comfortable with it. I still think it’s a good idea, I just… had a bad feeling. It’s probably inconsequential, anyway. Just nerves.”_

_“Doesn’t mean I won’t take it seriously,” she said, eyes snapping towards the door. “We’re not all that far from the campsite. Hell, Junko was probably the one who killed the poor fuckers that were in this place. Do you think she knows we’re here?”_

_Caehl frowned. “If she knows about this place, then she knows about the campsite, too. So it’s a bit of a moot point either way.”_

_“True. What about this Flynt kid? You think he knows we’re here?”_

_“I can’t see why he would,” Caehl responded. After a beat she shook her head, sighing. “Honestly, it probably_ is _just Tristan. He’s our friend and we have nothing to worry about.”_

_“But safety first,” Gam muttered pointedly. “This is a war, after all.”_

_“Was.”_

_“Still is, as far as I’m concerned. It ain’t over ‘til Junko’s gone for good.”_

_Caehl shrugged. “Either way, you’re right. Safety first. Let’s just get these contacts in—the meeting’s in an hour, right?”_

_“That’s what he said on the message boards.” Gam stared at her for another moment. “Hell, now you’ve got me all jittery. Are you sure you want to do this?”_

_Caehl nodded._

_“And I suppose you_ are _a walking armory,” Gam noted, half-conceding with a nod towards the stack of Caehl’s weapons on the counter in the kitchen. Swords, daggers, four different guns, two chain scythes… The list seemed endless._

_Caehl merely grinned a nervous grin in response._

_“Alright then. Come stand here, I need the light to get these things in proper.”_

_It took Gam a number of minutes to get help her sister get the contacts in. When it was done, Caehl’s once-sea blue eyes blinked auburn—occasionally crimson, when the light caught them at certain angles. Gam didn’t spend too long on the makeup; the most important part was the foundation, to help smooth out the already slight difference in skin tone. Then she handed Caehl a pair of blue jeans, a faded brown t-shirt, and a heavy black jacket—an outfit to match a common staple of Gam’s own wardrobe. Caehl hopped behind the armchair and briskly switched out the clothes, too familiar with Gam to bother changing in another room._

_Gam was looking down when Caehl returned, the soft pad of her footsteps across the heavy carpet alerting her approach. Gam had taken her hat off and held it in both hands: she stared at it in silence for several moments, the bright flame of the candles in the foreground of her vision half-disturbing the sight of the worn pink cat ears and faded black fabric._

_Gam sighed, still not looking up. “This is all that’s left, then.”_

_“The hat.”_

_“Yeah, my hat. Where’s yours?”_

_“You’re holding it, of course. I’m you now.”_

Gam blinked, taken aback.

            _“Haha, very funny Caehl,” she said. “Seriously, where did you put your hat?”_

_“This is ridiculous, Gam. What do you think this charade is going to accomplish?”_

_Gam looked up, surprised. Caehl was standing uncomfortably close, staring down at her. The light from the windows filled her right eye, and made it gleam the color of blood. Her lips were a thin line—she looked strangely unlike herself, but she didn’t look like Gam, either. She looked like an amalgamation of both, some unnatural thing trapped in two._

_“I_ a _s_ k _e_ d _y_ o _u_ a _q_ u _e_ s _t_ i _o_ n _, G_ a _m.”_

Gam’s breath caught in her throat; she looked around herself in a fervor. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t how the memory was supposed to go.

            _Caehl—but not Caehl, it couldn’t be Caehl, it was something else—Gaehl stepped forward, somehow getting even closer to Gam. Her right hand stretched out, fingers long and reaching. “_ Y _o_ u _c_ a _n’_ t _m_ a _k_ e _h_ e _r_ r _e_ m _e_ m _b_ e _r._ I _w_ o _n’_ t _l_ e _t_ t _h_ a _t_ h _a_ p _p_ e _n._ D _o_ y _o_ u _t_ h _i_ n _k_ I _’m_ a _n_ i _d_ i _o_ t _? D_ i _d_ y _o_ u _t_ h _i_ n _k_ I _w_ o _u_ l _d_ n _’t_ f _i_ n _d_ t _h_ e _s_ e _s_ i _m_ u _l_ a _t_ i _o_ n _s?_ Y _o_ u _t_ h _i_ n _k_ y _o_ u _c_ a _n_ o _u_ t _s_ m _a_ r _t_ d _e_ a _t_ h _. D_ e _a_ t _h_ i _s_ i _n_ e _v_ i _t_ a _b_ l _e._ W _h_ y _w_ o _n’_ t _y_ o _u_ l _e_ t _t_ h _e_ d _e_ a _d_ s _t_ a _y_ d _e_ a _d?”_

_“What… What… Who are you?” Gam stumbled backwards, eyes wide. “Where’s Caehl?”_

_Gaehl smiled wide, the expression cleaving the bottom half of her face. Her teeth shone in the candle light. “_ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _,” she intoned. “C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._

 _“_ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d. \\\\\\___kd_ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e□d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i□ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ □ _d. \\\_ □□□□ _\_ C _a_ e _h_ l _i_ s _d_ e _a_ d _._ _C_ a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ _ _d. __dk::::::::::::::::::::::::::::_ C _a_ __l _i_ s _d______________ □□□□□ _::h_ l _i_ s _d_ e□a _e_ h _l_ i _s_ d _e_ a _d._ C _a_ dkl _i_ d ke _a_ d _._ ___ a _kdl_ i _s_ d _kdd._ __e _h_ l _i_ \ _d_ e _\_ d□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□ _”_ □□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

                            □□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

            □□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

            □□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

            I looked around in confusion, my heart pounding from the sudden pressure of something changed. For a moment, all the lights had gone out, drowning my vision in darkness. When my sight returned, the simulation had disappeared around Olivia and me, reverting to black—only the center of the simulation was still working and visible as a “real” place, leaving nothing but the glass coffee table, a section of floor, and half of an armchair; all trapped within a little bubble of space in the dark. The Gam and Caehl of the simulation had disappeared: the real Gam was confined in this small space with a tall and unnatural inverted version of herself whose feverish red eyes seemed to be glowing from the light coming through the artificial window. This being was a complete stranger to me, yet something about her behavior struck me as familiar.

            “Well?” she asked Gam. “Are you going to apologize?”

            “What?” Gam looked around in a daze. Her eyes swept over us, but didn’t seem to see us. “What the fuck are you talking about? What do I need to apologize for?”

            The fake laughed. “For killing your self-proclaimed sister. Obviously. I thought you would catch on quicker, seeing as you’re the one who set up this whole game in the first place.”

            I looked towards Olivia. “What the hell is happening?”

            She had been staring towards the isolated scene in horror. My voice seemed to snap her away from it—she looked over at me, shaken expression unchanged. “I… This wasn’t supposed to happen. I thought the mastermind didn’t know about the simulations.”

            “You think that’s the mastermind? Talking to Gam?”

            She faintly shook her head as she stared at me. I had never seen her so visibly startled; so completely out of her element. “Who else could it be?”

            I stared back. My heartbeat was irregular. “But they look like Caehl. In her disguise.”

            “Gaehl,” Olivia said. Without warning she abruptly ran across the blackness to the new edge of the simulation. Upon reaching this horizon, her progress was halted by some sort of invisible force. She was mere feet away from Gam, but seemed incapable of getting closer. “I… I don’t… Gam!”

            She yelled the other mastermind’s name, but Gam made no response at all. It was as if Olivia and I were in an entirely separate world.

            “Why won’t you talk to me?” Gaehl asked Gam. Her expression was pulled up in a snarl, alive with frustration.

            “Cause you don’t make any fucking sense, whoever the fuck you are,” Gam shot back. The ferocity in her voice put some of my growing despair at bay. “I didn’t kill Caehl.”

            Gaehl laughed sharply, voice full of pride as though she’d just caught Gam in a trap. “Yes you did. You’re the one who sent her to her death, aren’t you? She told you she was nervous. She told you she had a bad feeling about it. But you sent her to that campsite anyway, and she got crushed to death. It’s your fault!”

            “Y-You…” Gam’s hands spread out wide, fingers clutching at the air. “How dare you…”

            Olivia had been quiet during this time. Abruptly she turned to look at me. “I have no control over the simulation. We’ve been cut off from it entirely. The mastermind, they… they just took over.”

            “And they’re making us watch?” I asked with horror.

            “No.” Olivia shook her head, eyes narrowed with a familiar look as she thought out loud. “I don’t think the mastermind knows we’re here. I think they thought it was just Caehl and Gam in the simulation, so those are the only people they bothered to trap.”

            “But… how? And why wouldn’t they know about us?”

            The thoughtful look persisted. “Maybe they can’t see us, but only hear us. We were quiet this whole time, after all. It would make sense, because the simulations are cut off from the rest of the prison…”

            “But if they’re cut off, the mastermind wouldn’t be able to _hear_ them either. That doesn’t make _any_ sense.”

            “Yes, except…” Olivia fell silent, trailing off. Her eyes had drifted up to Gam, so close to us yet completely out of reach.

            Gam and Gaehl were still talking, but I could hardly bother to focus on their voices. The confusion this scene granted was too overwhelming. “But why would the mastermind look like Gaehl?” I asked aloud. “Is there something I’m missing here?”

            Olivia hesitated. Her hand hovered in front of her face, reaching out to something that wasn’t there. Her eyes snapped back to me. “What if the mastermind isn’t human?”

            I stared. “ _What_?”

            “Just bear with me for a second here. It would explain how they could _hear_ something outside of the prison without having to _see_ it.”

            My tone had grown sour from strain. “That seems a _little_ far-fetched.” To curb my frustration, I added, “Unless you mean the mastermind isn’t real, like you?”

            “No, not exactly.” She grit her teeth. “What if I had more evidence?”

            “I’d be happy to hear it, then.”

            Before she could respond, our conversation was cut short by a ragged screech from Gam. My eyes shot back towards the scene—she was pressed up against the edge of the tiny bubble of the simulation, behaving as though she had found an invisible barrier just like Olivia had. Her back was right to us, mere inches away. Her fingers were clenching and unclenching at her sides as she spat at Gaehl, “Shut the fuck up! You don’t know anything about her!”

            “What a stupid thing to say,” Gaehl responded flatly. “I’m her best friend, after all. I’m her sister. She trusts me above anyone else—so of course I know her.”

            “You… You’re not Caehl’s sister.”

            Gaehl looked dramatically taken aback. “What? Of course I am. My name is Gam Ponytore. My name was Harper Boyd. I’m Caehl’s best friend.”

            “No. No,” Gam whined, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head. “L… Look, okay, you’re right; disguising Caehl was a bad idea. It’s the reason she died. Is that what you want me to say?”

            “That was a lame apology,” Gaehl said. “You didn’t even say ‘sorry.’ You’ll have to do better than that. I mean, don’t you realize how deep this goes? There’s a lot you need to atone for, here.”

            “What?”

            “Not only did you kill Caehl,” she continued, “but by disguising her, you’re the reason Junko altered her memories. Caehl realized that Tristan had betrayed everyone, so she tried to contact you and warn you. That made Junko mad, which was why she fucked with Caehl’s head in the first place—because of you! When Caehl believed she was you, she nearly had the confidence to try killing Olivia. So you’re also the reason the mutual killing started at the campsite, Gam. That means you’re responsible for the deaths of _ten_ of your friends. And,” Gaehl’s grin spread scissor-wide again. “After Caehl was killed, she was brought back to this place as a tulpa. And while she was here, she panicked and shot AJ in the head. If Caehl had been alive, she never would have become a tulpa in the first place, and AJ would have survived. So you’re responsible for _her_ death, too.”

            Gam’s eyes had gone wide. “Sh… shut up,” she said.

            Olivia was shaking her head. “This isn’t right. That’s not what Gaehl sounded like—I knew Caehl when she thought she was Gam, I know what she sounded like. And ‘Gaehl’ never really existed, anyway, so it’s impossible for that person to actually be her.”

            “An imposter,” I said.

            “An imposter of an imposter,” Olivia muttered. She shook her head, as though clearing away something unpleasant. “Mads, we need to figure out why the mastermind is pretending to be Gaehl. Quickly. I think it’s the key to saving Gam.”

            Gaehl again stepped closer to Gam, still grinning. “You need to fix this.”

            I shook my head, running my hands through my hair. “Okay, okay. Shit, okay. So it’s impossible for this person to actually be Gaehl, because ‘Gaehl’ was never a real person in the first place.”

            “And Gaehl never talked the way this person does,” Olivia said with a nod.

            “Right, so whoever this is, they’re just disguised as Gaehl. But—hang on, that doesn’t make sense. Their body type is _exactly_ the same as Caehl’s—so is the haircut. All of it. That’s not something you can accomplish with only makeup and a convincing outfit. So what does that mean? Is Caehl the mastermind?”

            Olivia hesitated, frowning. “Maybe. I reached that possible conclusion too, but… Laura said the mastermind was male, right? She was using male pronouns.”

            “What if she wasn’t actually talking about the mastermind?” I said.

            “I suppose that’s a possibility. But we don’t have any evidence to suggest it.”

            I shook my head. “But if it isn’t Caehl… There’s no one else who would have her exact same body type.” I paused, considering all of it. “So maybe the mastermind isn’t using a disguise.”

            Olivia looked genuinely taken aback by such a statement. “You mean they’re hiding their identity in a different way? But how…”

            I made a face. “This is gonna sound stupid, but… what if the mastermind is _inside_ the simulation? What if the mastermind is using the simulation’s version of Caehl to talk to the real Gam?”

            “And they’re hiding the real Caehl at the same time?”

            Jesus Christ. The air was swarming with Caehls. “I guess so. Is that even possible? I know we’re in a fake reality and all, but…”

            “But it makes sense because it could have happened before. With people forgetting periods of time.”

            “Yes! Wait, what?”

            “Quickly,” she said.

            “Right, uh…” I shook my head, trying to think. Abruptly, something clicked. “You mean Zach and Aaron? They don’t remember whole chunks of time in the prison. Do you think the mastermind was somehow… controlling them?”

            She nodded. “If this theory is true, then it would make sense.”

            “But to be able to do something like that…” I swallowed. “That would support your idea that the mastermind isn’t human.”

            Again, she nodded.

            I grimaced. Gam and Gaehl’s voices were slowly growing louder and louder next to us. “Okay, but… I know it was my theory, but we really have no reason to believe it. If the mastermind is… is… _possessing_ a part of the simulation, then it’s not like we can get a testimony. Plus, just because they can possess part of a computer program doesn’t mean they know how to possess a living person. I mean, hell—what if it isn’t the mastermind at all? What if it’s just a glitch in the simulation?”

            “What if the mastermind _is_ …” Olivia stopped herself, almost wincing. “Okay, okay, you’ve got a point. But if it’s _just_ a glitch, then why would I have lost control of the simulation? I should still be able to access it. And shut it off. But I can’t do either of those things right now.”

            “Okay,” I said. “Then it’s both.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “The mastermind made the simulation glitch. That’s how they’re ‘possessing’ it. This has nothing to do with Zach or Aaron at all.”

            “Well…” Olivia made a face. “We can’t say that for sure.”

            I shrugged. “It’s what the evidence is suggesting right now.”

            She began to nod, slowly, her hesitant expression fading. “Okay, okay. So the mastermind glitched it.” The hesitance was replaced with a sudden look of concern. “But _why_? What are they gaining from interrogating Gam? And where the _hell_ did the real Caehl go?”

            I looked back up to the conversation for answers.

            “…not gonna take this shit anymore,” Gam was growling. “Tell me who the fuck you are.”

            “I told you,” Gaehl said. “I’m you.”

            “Don’t be an asshole,” she spat. “I know you’re the fucking mastermind.”

            “Yes, I am. So are you, right? You’re the one controlling Monobear, right? I’m the mastermind, just like you.”

            “Now you’re _really_ just being an asshole,” Gam said. “I don’t know how you got yourself to look like Caehl, and I sure as hell don’t know what you’re doing here, but to be honest I don’t really give a shit. Give me my sister back.”

            “Your sister is dead.”

            “Fucking—holy _shit_ , you fucker. I’m losing my patience.”

            I turned back to Olivia, feeling helpless. She looked over at me, expression equally pained. “They must want something from Gam,” she said. “Why else would they be here?”

            “Sure, but…” I shook my head.

            “Mmm…” Olivia seemed to consider it for a moment, looking raw with concern. “The mastermind only seems to show up when they’re trying to accomplish something. When have they shown up so far?”

            I pressed my hand over my eyes as I tried to think. “Uh… they interrogated me in the bathroom about some girl they were looking for. Any other time I’ve heard about them was… Bree, AJ, Jacob, and Laura.” I drew my hand away. “Each of them were visited by the mastermind, who told them to murder their tulpa.”

            “So excluding your encounter in the bathroom, the mastermind’s goal has always been…”

            “To get the tulpas killed,” I said. We stared at each other for a long moment. “But if the mastermind is here now, then…” I lifted my gaze towards the simulation, then looked back at Olivia. “Gam’s tulpa is Caehl. So is the mastermind somehow trying to convince her to kill Caehl?”

            “It doesn’t _sound_ like they’re doing that,” Olivia said, expression twisting into one of genuine confusion. “And anyway, even if they were it would never work. Gam has all of her memories, and she knows all the rules of the prison. She has no reason to try killing Caehl.”

            “So the mastermind is looking for somebody, then? Like when they attacked me?”

            “They haven’t mentioned anything like that.” Olivia shook her head. “The mastermind _must_ be trying to get a tulpa killed.”

            “Then… Then… I-I don’t know.”

            Olivia had raised her head to look up at the simulation, watching as Gam released an increasingly tenuous series of threats to the mastermind. As Olivia stared, her eyes widened and her expression fell. I looked up at the simulation myself, but I didn’t immediately understand. “Fuck,” Olivia spat. “You’ve got that wrong.”

            As I followed her gaze, I realized that she wasn’t looking at Gam; she was looking at Gaehl. I squinted. The sunlight coming in through the window and the glare of the candles—coupled with the absolute darkness surrounding us—made it hard to pick out exact details. But now that I was looking for it, I saw what had gotten Olivia so agitated: Gaehl wasn’t wearing Gaehl’s outfit. She was wearing Caehl’s.

            And—now that I was really _looking_ —she wasn’t wearing contacts, either. I had originally assumed that the light from the window had reflected off of her eye and made it appear to glow red, but now that I was paying closer attention I saw that this effect was only taking place on her _right_ eye—and it wasn’t just an effect. Her right eye was _actually_ glowing red. The left was its normal sea green hue.

            “Gaehl” wasn’t Gaehl at all. It was Caehl.

            “You’ve got that wrong,” Olivia repeated, now with urgency instead of frustration. “The mastermind isn’t possessing the Caehl in the simulation, they’re possessing the _real_ Caehl. I—I should have noticed from the beginning. The true simulation had been interrupted, so the fake Gam and Caehl had disappeared; there’s no way the mastermind could have been possessing either of them. It _had_ to have been the real Caehl. Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

            “Okay,” I said. “Okay, calm down. So it’s the real Caehl they’re possessing. Other than the very alarming suggestion that Zach and Aaron actually _were_ possessed, I don’t see what the big deal is.”

            Olivia looked at me with wide eyes. “The mastermind’s goal is to make sure the tulpas are killed by their respective students. Gam is alone in that room with Caehl right now. But Gam doesn’t know it’s Caehl. She thinks it’s the mastermind.”

            My stomach flipped. “So Gam might…”

            “Gam!” Olivia screamed again. “Hang on!” Her expression screwed up in frustration, knowing full well that Gam couldn’t hear her. Now I was _really_ paying attention to the simulation.

            The mastermind was mid-sentence. “…not going to leave until you say it. You thought you could hide from me in these _secondary_ simulations, trying to force people’s memories to come back… You’re disgusting. You know it’s true, so there’s no reason to fuck around with me right now.”

            “Stay the fuck away from me,” Gam snarled. “You’re demented. The only reason I’m still putting up with this shit is because I think I might be able to get some answers out of you.”

            “No,” the possessed Caehl snarled. “’the only reason you’re still putting up with this shit’ is because you continue to hold on to the _delusion_ that I’ve got Caehl trapped somewhere. You won’t accept the fact that Caehl has long since died. She was _crushed_ by a _cinderblock_ because of _your_ poor decision-making. The tulpa that you were talking to earlier is nothing more than a lie. Believing anything different from that is a sign of insanity.”

            “Okay! I’m insane! Sure,” she snapped, waving her arms. “I’ve only been through an _entire_ three-year-long war where I had to kill people and fight for my life. _And_ I’m the unlucky fucker who was forced to remember all of it! Calling me insane is hardly original, buddy.”

            “I’m not your buddy,” the mastermind said, surly.

            “Figure of speech,” Gam hissed through grit teeth.

            With sudden aggression, the mastermind leaned forward and prodded Gam’s chest with one finger, pointing her down. “Stop playing games with me. I’m being serious here. You keep trying to act all tough, but I know what I’m saying is getting to you.”

            “Shut up,” she said, derisive; though her body language showed that she was clearly uncomfortable.

            “You’re the reason she’s dead,” they intoned through the visage of Gaehl. “You’re the reason any of them are dead. And you know it’s true. That’s why you decided to become mastermind of this prison. You thought to yourself… You thought, ‘If I could save all of my friends that are trapped in this fake world, then I’ll be redeemed for having killed all my other friends.’ But you couldn’t do that, either. You couldn’t do that because Caehl—the source of all your mistakes—was here, and she shot AJ in the head. So no matter what you do now, you’ve already failed.”

            “Shut up,” Gam repeated through a grimace.

            “Because you decided to disguise your sister—because you decided to send her to your doom… that’s the reason all this death and destruction and _pain_ had to happen. It’s your fault. Every single death is your fault. You know it’s true—that’s why you came here, isn’t it? You could have just stayed away from the prison and allowed the tulpa of Caehl to be deleted with the rest of this world. But you didn’t. You came back, because you think if you can save her it will make everything right again. But it won’t. You can’t bring back the dead. You can’t give back the lives you stole.”

            “Sh… Shut up,” she said.

            “All your friends…” This was punctuated by a wild gesture backwards. “Every single one of them have had to suffer and cry and fight and _kill each other_ while you spent all this time sitting on the sidelines, safe in this stolen cabin. You’re guilty. You’re guilty that you’ve gotten to live on happily while everyone else wallowed in pain. You tried to fix it by commandeering the prison, but you couldn’t even do that. _You_ tripped the timer. You know that, right? There wasn’t a timer at all until you showed up. You’re the reason that everyone’s going to be destroyed in a matter of hours.”

            “Shut _up_ ,” she hissed.

            “Gam,” Olivia whispered, pressed up against the barrier.

            But the mastermind wasn’t done. “There wasn’t a timer until you showed up—and there wasn’t a Caehl, either. She was dead. She was at rest. But you brought her back. You _ripped her_ into this world to feed the fire of your guilt and regret. And you had the _audacity_ to bring Ash back from the dead? To force them back to living? I don’t know what you did to them, but I’m _know_ it was unnatural and freakish. Your pitiful attempts at solving problems and helping people have only caused more problems and more pain.” She leaned back, red eye glowing like an orb. The frustrated, tantrum-like aggression faded. The smile that replaced it was all teeth. “I know all this because I’m you. I’m you because you _made_ me you. You forced Caehl into this position; you broke her mind so that she would think she was you. When Junko altered her memories, it was really _you_ pulling that invisible trigger. You’re the one who made her like that. You’re the reason I’m you.”

            “Shut up, shut up, _shut the fuck up_!” Gam screamed. In a flash, her hand swung behind her back and pulled the AK-47 around on its strap. Years of practice made her fast. One hand over the barrel and the other on the trigger, she pressed down and the air was filled with the screaming rapport of the gun. Shells bounced and clattered and clanged on the floor, a symphonic jingle. Gam was still screaming at the mastermind to shut up, her mouth forming the words but the gun too loud for me to hear them.

            The moment the first bullet hit Caehl, the simulation cut out. Our world was engulfed in total black. Olivia fell forward to the lightless ground as the barrier ceased to exist, catching herself on her hands. For a moment all was darkness and sound as the gun kept firing, but then a pale white light illuminated the scene, presumably provided by Olivia. The flare of the rifle was so bright that I only saw the proceedings in flashes: Caehl shaking like a ragdoll at the rapid hit of each bullet; Gam’s mouth gaping open, screaming; the shells rattling and rolling across the floor; Olivia’s eyes wide, her hands on the ground, unmoving.

            Abruptly Gam came to her senses and the gun fell silent. Caehl was literally flung backwards from the force of the shots; she lay on the ground in a heap of blood. I let out a choked gasp, which prompted Gam to turn around—she looked at the two of us, at my horrified expression and Olivia’s speechless form. Then she spun forward again, and looked at the body. Only then did she realize what she had done.

            She struggled to throw the gun away, ripping off the strap as though distancing herself from the weapon would help. Then she ran to Caehl. She dove under her head and lifted her front half up, making a noise half between a gag and a sob at all the blood that immediately drenched her hands. With Caehl elevated like this, I could better see the damage: all the bullets had hit her torso, her middle riddled all over with dark red holes. Her eyes were wide with surprise, her mouth agape. Her right eye no longer glowed red—she was herself again.

            “Caehl,” Gam breathed, voice high and gasping. “Caehl, holy fuck, I-I-I-I-”

            “G… Gam?” she choked out, amazingly. Her eyes wandered up to Gam above her, whose face must have looked upside-down in her vision. “H…hk… Gam, I think I’m dying. I… I don’t know why I… I, I’m sorry.”

            “What are you saying?” Gam said, voice cracking on the last syllable. I saw her hands clutch at Caehl from beneath her, struggling to lift her up higher. “You’re fine, you—” Her voice caught. “You’re _fine_ , do you _hear me, goddamnit!_ ” She screamed through the cracks, utterly failing to keep her voice level. “We can help you, okay? You’re going to be okay…”

            “No, no, I just… wanted to say I’m sorry about…” she paused, gagging. “About AJ. I felt really bad about it. N… Not for myself, because I felt guilty or anything, but because… h… hk, because everyone had to watch that. I thought… I thought that must have h… hurt everyone a lot. Especially you, because… Because Mads told me you were trying to protect us, so…” She laughed, but it was raspy and rapidly turned into more gagging. “I must have really messed everything up for you, huh?”

            Gam was not bothering to stop herself from crying. She spoke through sobs. “ _No_ , Caehl, you didn’t mess up anything at all. I was just h-happy to see your face again. I w-wanted to do better for you. I-I-I-I… You always did so much for me, I wanted to be the one to h-help you for once…”

            Strangely, Caehl’s eyes were wet with tears as well. She smiled, expression strained. “But you did. You _did_ help me. I remembered…”

            “Y-You remembered?” Gam swallowed, gasping for air. “What did you remember?”

            Her eyes had gone misty, and not just from the water that welled in them: she seemed to be looking off at a distant point in time, at a place that no one else could see. “I remembered my dream. I was at a campsite,” she said. She lifted her hand up, as though to touch Gam’s face, but was not strong enough to make it the whole way. “I dreamed I was you. A-And I was,” she sobbed, smiling. “I was so happy.” And then her arm fell limp and she was dead.

            For a moment, all was silent. Then Gam began screaming. She began screaming and did not stop. The blackness was filled with it. The invisible white light that illuminated this destruction was filled with it. My heart was filled with it, my head was filled with it, my ears were filled with it; every part of everything was filled with it. Olivia was still crouched on the floor, immobile, stunned.

            After what could have been ages, Gam fell silent. She stood up slowly, arms dangling; Caehl’s corpse collapsed to the ground beneath her. My brain belatedly attempted to come up with solutions: we couldn’t perform a memory transfer, she had to be alive for that. There was no time. It all happened so quickly. I felt numb.

            “The mastermind did this,” Gam said, tone flat and devoid of everything, her voice raw from all the screaming. “They controlled her somehow. Right?”

            Her question barely had the intonation necessary to describe it as such. I nodded and said, “We think the mastermind has the power to—”

            “It doesn’t matter how they did it,” she muttered. I blinked, affronted.

            She stared at me for a moment, silent and breathing. Then she walked across the darkness, trailing blood, and picked up her gun. She ripped the magazine out and procured another one from the belt around her middle, locking it into place. Slowly, deliberately, she slung the strap over her shoulder again.

            “I’m going to kill them,” she said in a raspy voice. 

            A long, low noise escaped Olivia’s mouth. “Gam,” she said. It was a statement, not a question or a call or a summons. She was saying it to herself; no one else.

            Gam made her way to the door that would let her escape this place. “Oh shit,” I said in sudden realization—my tone was just barely enough to make her pause.

            “What?” she said.

            “Kayla’s time limit,” I said. “Olivia, what’s left on the timer?”

            Olivia looked at me, blinked once very slowly, and then got to her feet. “We’re under eight hours.”

            “I’m late,” I said.

            “And the mastermind can possess people,” Olivia said, eyes glimmering with a distant note of horror. “Because that was the real Caehl. That wasn’t a Caehl from a simulation, it was actually her. So the mastermind…”

            “ _Kayla and Izzy_ ,” I hissed. “Izzy’s already said multiple times that she won’t kill her sister, so the mastermind might try to—”

            “Might try to force her hand like they did mine,” Gam grunted. “Perfect. They’ll be out and about now. _And_ we know their secret. I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” Her hand fell back, hovering above her AK-47.

            Olivia and I exchanged a glance. I shook the thought away and said, “We need to hurry.”

            She nodded, also seeming to shake away some thought of her own. Then all three of us were on our feet and running to Caehl’s door, running out of this place of death. I didn’t know how the mastermind was capable of any of this, but we had to stop them before Kayla was killed as well. That was all that mattered right now.

            When I opened the door into the prison, I was startled to discover that everything was on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I put a Wuthering Heights reference in my Dangan Ronpa fanfiction. I don't have any explanation for myself anymore.


	31. 5.5 "Into Oblivion"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone on the table,  
> A man on your side--  
> Or someone that you think that you can trust;  
> It's just  
> ANOTHER WAY TO DIE.

Trial Part 1

            Everything was burning. Every single wall was lined with flames that licked six feet high, arching up to nearly reach the claustrophobic ceiling of the prison. Smoke gathered in heavy gray clumps along the roof, blotting out my vision. The prison had never been as bright as it was now, wreathed in this inferno; yet I could hardly see from all the smoke. I put a hand over my eyes, feeling them begin to stream already.

            “What the hell!” I yelled, having to raise my voice over the roar of the fire.

            “Kayla has set the prison on fire,” Nikita called back from where she stood next to the door, confidently expressionless. I was fairly certain that she had not moved a single inch since I’d last seen her.

            “What?” I cried. “Why?”

            “She said it was the first phase of her plan to get murdered,” she responded.

            “Jesus Christ,” I spat. Olivia was looking between Nikita and I in silence, expression one of vague amazement. Gam, meanwhile, had already jogged to the end of the hall and back, carefully scouting out the area. Shaking my head, I said, “Nikita, why the hell did you stay here? Haven’t you tried to put the fire out?”

            “It is a gas fire,” she said, “so there is little I can do. Additionally, I promised you I would guard this place, so I have stayed here to do so.”

            After fighting back a cough, I managed, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

            She blinked. “I made a promise, so I kept it. I do not see what the problem is.” Something seemed to occur to her, so she added, “Are you concerned for my health? I do not need to breathe, so there is no need for you to worry.”

            I was spared from my desire to scream by Gam’s prompt return. The rasping of her throat was made significantly worse by all the smoke. “There’s no one near the cells. They all must be somewhere else.”

            “There was no one,” I coughed, “at Izzy’s cell?”

            “No,” she said shortly.

            “Where could they all have gone?”

            “Don’t look at me for answers,” Gam said, wheezing.

            Nikita and Olivia weren’t coughing, of course. The latter looked over at the former, studied her for a ponderous moment, and then turned her gaze back to me. “Aren’t there vents on the ceiling of the pool?”

            “Yeah!” I said. “We can probably breathe better in there.”

            As half of us were having trouble speaking at this point, no one bothered to say anything more. I led the way down the hall and around the corner, heading as quickly as I could towards the far wing of the prison, where the pool lay in wait. The vents on the ceiling funneled up to the Kibougamine campus above, and could likely provide us with some repose from all the smoke and heat. As I ran, I stole glances at the fire around us: it covered most of the doors to most of the cells and rooms, though Caehl’s door had been left unburnt—probably because of Nikita’s influence. I could see the slick, shiny patches of fuel on the ground from which the fire heartily burned. It seemed to have been laid specifically across the walls, like a fence of flame, caging us in: in fact, I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that the fire was shepherding us in a specific direction. Doors devoid of fire included: the cafeteria, Caehl’s room, and the library.

            Sure enough, when I got to the door to the pool, I found that it had also been left unburnt—but all the floor leading to the manhole was covered in fuel and burning brightly. It looked like Kayla only wanted us going into certain rooms; and with any alternative paths blocked by fire, trying to fight it wasn’t an option.

            I pushed open the door to the pool to see Kayla reclined in a plastic chair, wearing dark black sunglasses and holding a glass full of god-knows-what.

            “Oh, there you are,” she said as we entered, grinning behind the sunglasses. “I was wondering when you’d finally show up.”

            Gam was silent, catching her breath behind me and wiping soot from her face. The others didn’t immediately say anything, so I continued to take the lead. “Why did you set the prison on fire?” I asked, surprised by how tired I sounded.

            “I told you I’d give you nine hours,” she said plainly. “I did, and you never delivered, so now I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

            “By setting everything on _fire_?”

            “Not everything,” she said, mocking a pout. “I was very particular about it, didn’t you see?”

            “Yes,” I said, grimacing.

            There was a pause. “What?” she said. “You’ve got nothing else to say about it?” She took a long sip from her drink. “Is it the source of the fire that’s confusing you? I got the fuel from those pyrotechnics cases in the theatre, and there’s matches in the kitchen. Easy answer. I thought you were the primary puzzle solver around here, Mads. I’m going to be awfully disappointed if you don’t deliver.”

            I could still hear the growl of the fire just outside the door. Nikita had her staff in her hand; she glanced at me questioningly, wondering if she should make a move. I shook my head lightly, then turned my attention back to Kayla. “Obviously you wanted people to head to the pool,” I said, keeping my tone level and disinterested. “We were going to head here anyway. The vents make it easier to breathe.”

            “Well, sure,” she said, the black lenses of the sunglasses winking at me. “But that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to provide a bit of encouragement. And anyway, we humans are an unpredictable bunch. The two of us would certainly say that the pool is the most logical place to go in an emergency like this one, but others might not so readily agree. I took the necessary actions to ensure that their agreement wasn’t needed.”

            I groaned, running my hands over my face. “Look, Kayla, I get it. Trust me, I really do. You want to make sure your sister is safe. But we’re not your enemy here, okay? We want to do the same thing.”

            She frowned. I couldn’t see her eyes, but she looked suddenly serious. She swung her feet off of the chair and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “Did it work, then? Is Caehl safe?”

            I swallowed. I shook my head no.

            Kayla was still for a moment. Then she sighed and stood up, taking another sip from the glass in her hand before carelessly tossing it into the pool. “Nevermind that. It’s better this way.”

            “But—hang on, it _did_ actually work. I think. It’s just… the mastermind interrupted. They can possess people, so—”

            She laughed sharply. “ _Trust_ me. It’s better this way. And even if it wasn’t, your lack of confidence is hardly inspiring.” She fished her gun out of her back pocket and, to my surprise, tossed it at me. I caught it, looking up at her in confusion. “You say you’re on my side, yeah? That you want to save Izzy too, and all that?”

            “Yes,” I said.

            “Then make good on your claim,” she said, pointing a thumb towards the changing room at the far end of the pool. “Izzy’s locked in there. You’ll see some matches by the door; bring her out and have her light up the fuel on the ground. I’ll be dead in a matter of minutes—I’ll even keep the screaming down if you’re good about it.”

            “ _What_?”

            “Didn’t you notice how wet the ground is?” she said, blinking at me. “Surely you didn’t think that was from the pool. The facilities here are kept in admirably good condition. No, I’ve laced this whole chair and the ground leading to it with fuel. I dumped some in the water, too. Just for extra measure. Which reminds me—you’ll want to take the long way ‘round to get to Izzy.”

            “I’m not doing this, Kayla,” I said.

            I saw her jaw clench. “Let’s try that again,” she said. She drew a second gun from her pocket and cocked it at me. “Why don’t you go bring Izzy out here?”

            “Where the hell did you get another gun?” I said, startled.

            “You really should pay more attention,” she muttered from behind the barrel. “You’re holding Izzy’s, not mine.”

            I looked down. The initials under the carving indeed read _I.S._ instead of _K.S._ “But Zach had this one,” I said.

            “Well he doesn’t now! And don’t ask me where he is, because he was gone by the time I’d started laying the fuel. I found that sucker”—she nodded at the gun—“lying on the ground on the way over to Izzy’s cell. Now, as I was saying—” Kayla was cut off by a clicking sound as Gam lifted her AK-47 and pointed it at her.

            “Not that this isn’t a _great_ conversation and all,” Gam muttered, finger curled around the trigger. “But I’m gettin’ _real_ sick of waitin’ around here.”

            Kayla laughed at her, derisive. “Please, you can’t shoot me. If you kill me, then Izzy won’t be able to escape. You’ll doom her to death.” She looked at me, then over at Olivia, then back at Gam. “I’m right about that, aren’t I? Masterminds?”

            “You sure as hell are!” Gam barked, forking the barrel of her weapon out further from herself. “But that’s not gonna fuckin’ stop me. If you _really_ want to save your sister, you’ll drop the act and work with us. Otherwise I’ll end the Seagrave line right fuckin’ here!”

            “Gam…” Olivia said.

            “Put the gun down, Gam,” I said.

            “No,” she hissed. Then: “Hhk!”

            Nikita had come up behind her and wrapped the crook of her staff around her neck, pulling it back tightly against her throat. Nikita’s one visible eye was narrowed and dark as she watched Gam. “We are asking you to lower the gun,” she said calmly.

            “Fuck off,” Gam croaked.

            Nikita pulled tighter. I saw a line of red drop down Gam’s neck, and in the next instant Olivia drew her sword—Doran’s Blade, I think it’s called—and pointed it at Nikita’s back. In the following second, before I could even process my own movements, I’d drawn Izzy’s gun and was pointing it at Olivia’s head.

            Olivia stared at me with a look of calm, collected bemusement. “You can’t shoot me. I’m not actually in the simulation.”

            “Well…” I grit my teeth. “You’re also not a real human being, so what the _fuck_ does it matter?”

            She frowned. “Even if you could shoot me, I wouldn’t actually die. That’s true enough.” Her eyes narrowed. “But it’s not like I can actually hurt Nikita, either.”

            “Yeah! So—uh, what are you doing?”

            Olivia’s gaze slid over to Nikita. She grinned a little wryly as she looked back at me. “Well I had to participate in _some_ way.” She straightened up, sheathing Doran’s Blade with a suddenly formal countenance. “Though if something happens to Gam, I assure you I’ll be coming into the prison for real.”

            I grimaced. All of us were frozen in place like this for an uncomfortable moment: Kayla’s gun aimed at me, Gam’s gun aimed at Kayla, Nikita’s staff around Gam’s neck, Olivia’s sword half-sheathed with her eyes on me, and my gun pointed at Olivia’s head. Finally, hissing under my breath, I spun around and pointed the gun at Kayla instead. “You’re the real problem, here,” I said.

            “Empty threat,” she drawled. “I know none of you will actually shoot me.”

            I didn’t say anything. Gam said, “Just try me, fucker.”

            The mirror glare of her sunglasses swiveled over to look at Gam. “Okay,” she said. “What if I told you that there’s another reason you shouldn’t shoot me, Gam? A reason beyond keeping my sister alive?”

            “Yeah?” she scoffed. “Likely story. But I’m in the mood for a good joke, so let’s hear it.”

            “I know where the mastermind is,” she said.

            Gam was absolutely still for several long seconds. Her mouth was half-open, breathing unsteady. All eyes were on her. Suddenly she spun around and pointed her gun at me. Nikita immediately tightened her grip, and I saw Olivia instinctively pull at her sword again. “Sorry Mads,” Gam said in a rasp, sweat on her brow. “I’m not takin’ any chances.”

            I stared at her in amazement while Kayla held back a laugh. “That was easier than I thought it would be,” she said once she’d recovered. “Now you’ve got two guns on you, Mads. Is that enough incentive to make you go get Izzy?”

            I looked toward the dressing rooms, now undoubtedly feeling the pressure of the barrels aimed at my temple. Was Izzy really back there? I couldn’t give in yet. “What do you mean, you know where the mastermind is?” I shot back at Kayla. “That’s the kind of statement that you’re going to have to back up in some way or another.”

            “Do I really?” she countered. “Gam said she wasn’t going to take any risks, after all, and she’s the only person I _really_ need to convince. And anyway, why would I barter with something I didn’t have? I had nine hours to set up this whole charade, so you can trust that I put a great deal of thought into it.” She tilted her head up, the light gleaming off of her sunglasses. “But you said you learned some new things about the mastermind while you were trying to save Caehl, right? So I’m sure, if you put all the evidence together, you’ll be able to figure out how I’m getting my information all on your own.”

            I huffed. “Kayla, this is… come on, you have to see how ridiculous this is.”

            She cocked the gun. “I’d really prefer not to waste a life, Mads.”

            I now felt undeniably backed into a corner. Grimacing, seething, I lowered the gun and took the trek around the far side of the pool, eager to avoid the glistening trails of fuel that covered the ground. Kayla and Gam’s gun barrels tracked my progress across the smooth tiled floor. I came to the dressing room doors—there was a plastic chair placed near the threshold, a box of matches sitting on one smooth white panel. I picked it up in my free hand before pulling open the door, gun raised.

            Izzy stood behind the door, her arms crossed and her expression twisted in a grimace. The purple curtains of the changing rooms loomed behind her. “Hey,” she said. “Thanks for pointing my own gun at me.”

            “I’m being threatened here too, alright?” I muttered, shrugging backwards to the assembly of weaponry behind me. Izzy glanced over with a look that was as indifferent as it was curious. “How the hell did all this happen?”

            “Beats me,” she muttered, eyes locked on her gun as I kept it pointed at her. “I heard a knock on my door so I came over, thinking it’d be Zach or something, but Zach was nowhere to be fuckin’ seen and Kayla was standing there with a gun pointed at…” She drifted off, almost sneering.

            “You?” I said in confusion.

            “No,” she grumbled. “She had it pointed at herself. She told me I had to go into this dressing room or she’d shoot herself and fuck us both over.” There was a pause as we stared at each other, Izzy’s expression surly. “I saw all the fuel on the ground,” she added. “Did she _really_ set the prison on fire?”

            “Yeah,” I sighed.

            “Are you two quite done catching up over there?” Kayla called in the taunting tone that I was beginning to get very accustomed to. “We’ve got things to take care of, remember?”

            I stepped over the beginning of Kayla’s fuel trail so I was standing to the side of the dressing rooms, the gun pointed at Izzy’s middle. I held out the matches for her. She looked down at them in clear displeasure, then up at me in an accusatory manner, as if I was somehow the source of all this.

            “She wants you to set her on fire,” I said, nodding down at the trail beneath us with a grimace.

            “Of _course_ she does,” Izzy muttered. She wasn’t taking the matches.

            “Nii-san,” Kayla said.            

            “Yeah?”

            “Do as Mads says.”

            “Nah, I think I’m good,” Izzy said.

            Kayla was quiet for a second too long, expressionless behind the empty mirrors of her sunglasses. “Mads has a gun to you,” she said.

            “I’m aware,” Izzy growled.

            “Shoot her,” Kayla said.

            “Kayla, I’m not—”

            “Shoot her, or I shoot you,” she growled at me, leaning forward in the heat of her snarl. There was a moment of silence as she reclined back again. “Nothing lethal. Just the leg, perhaps.”

            “I…” I looked over at Izzy. Her hair drifted over her eyes, making it hard to see her expression very well. The gun suddenly felt uncomfortably warm in my hand. I lowered it to point at her right calf, then looked up again for a reaction.

            She shrugged, spreading her arms open at her sides. “Go ahead and do it then.”

            “I… I can’t just… hurt you like that.”

            “Perhaps you’re not understanding,” Kayla said sharply. “If you don’t shoot her, I’m going to shoot you.”

            “Do it, then!” Now it was Izzy’s turn to round on Kayla, her voice a snarl as she challenged her sister. “Go ahead and shoot Mads. Why would I give a shit whether you do or not? They ain’t following your instructions, so you might as well do it. Shoot ‘em.”

            I could put together none of Kayla’s expression with her sunglasses in the way. She was still, the gun held at a bit of an angle, directed at my forehead. Her lips were a thin and featureless line. She wiggled the gun a bit in a way that seemed to be going for playful. Finally she nodded, as though she’d just figured something out, and then looked over at the others.

            “Go ahead and shoot them, Gam,” she said.

            “Why me?” Gam said.

            “I need to test your loyalty here, of course,” she drawled back. “If you want to know how to find the mastermind, then you’ll have to shoot Mads.”

            Gam didn’t immediately respond. I saw Nikita shift her grip on her staff, half glancing back at Olivia—then she looked back towards Gam and said, “What if I could tell you who the mastermind was?”

            Gam looked over at her, straining against the crook of the staff to turn her head. “You know that?”

            “Admittedly, it is just a theory,” Nikita said, tone level. “And I cannot tell you where the mastermind _is_. But I have many a good reason to believe that I am correct about his identity.”

            “His?”

            She shrugged very lightly, bony form shifting. “Laura used male pronouns. And as it is, the only two people not in this room who are still within the prison are Zachary and Aaron. So it must be one of them.”

            Gam was studying her carefully. “And you know which one is the mastermind?”

            “I have a great deal of evidence to support my claims,” she said simply.

            The two stared at each other for a moment longer. The gun had half-lowered in Gam’s grip, slowly beginning to drift. Before a conclusion could be reached, Kayla spoke up again. “I assure you, Gam: whatever evidence Nikita might have, there is no way her claims can be as airtight as mine.”

            “Now _that’s_ a statement you’re gonna have to back up,” Gam said, rounding on her.

            She smiled very slowly, then looked back at me, sunglasses glinting. “Well, Mads? Have you figured it out yet?”

            “Figured out _what_?”

            “Where I’m getting my information from. You can probably put it together fairly easily, considering everything you know now. So tell me: how can I know who the mastermind is without any room for doubt?”

            “The glasses,” Olivia said softly, half to herself. I looked over at her, and she returned my gaze with a dark frown.

            Kayla snickered. “ _Someone’s_ paying attention. I want Mads to figure out the rest, though. They’ve solved so many murders in the past six days that I’m sure a little puzzle like this won’t be a challenge.”

            “The glasses?” I echoed, ignoring Kayla’s quips. There was something wrong with her sunglasses? I looked over at her again. It seemed to be a relatively innocuous, standard pair of sunglasses: black reflective lenses and a plastic black frame. They hung by her ears, under the floaty gold feathers of her bangs. Nothing about them seemed to be particularly noteworthy.

            “I don’t want to spend the next ten minutes sittin’ through some kinda fashion debate,” Gam snarled, now turning the gun to point at Kayla. Nikita didn’t let up with her staff, watching Gam carefully. “If you want to save your sister, then you’ll knock it off with all this ultimatum shit, Kayla. You hear me?”

            “If you shoot me, Nikita’s gonna slit your throat,” she said levelly.

            “Like I give a shit at this point.”

            “She is correct,” Nikita cautioned, a vague note of concern in her voice. “I will.”

            “I don’t care,” Gam said.

            “Put the gun down,” Kayla said.

            “I don’t want to hurt you,” Nikita said.

            Olivia snarled, “Listen—”

            Before anyone could get any further, Izzy suddenly lunged at me. She did it with such a sense of calmness, such a sense of composure; that I was too stunned to put up a fight. She snatched Buck’s knife from my pocket, unsheathed it, and drew it up across her throat. Kayla immediately leaned forward with a nervous energy—everyone else froze, watching her.

            “I’ll do it, Kayla,” she said, calm, expressionless, her jaw bobbing between syllables against the shiny knife blade. “If you don’t knock this shit off, I’ll kill myself right now. Are you hearing me?”

            Kayla was silent. Finally she gave a conciliatory, jerky nod.

            “Good,” Izzy said. “Great. Now everyone put their weapons down. All of you, put ‘em on the ground. You too, mastermind. Olivia, was it? Yeah, I know you’re a hologram or whatever, but I don’t give a shit. Get that sword the fuck out of here. I want it all the way the fuck off, Gam. Strap too. Just drop my gun, Mads, that’s fine. Kayla? Drop the fuckin’ gun.”

            While the rest of us were quick to drop our various articles, Kayla made no immediate movements, her gun still half-pointed at me. It was impossible to gauge her expression with the sunglasses in the way, her lips a flat line into oblivion. Finally, she tilted her hand to the side and let her gun drop over the edge of the pool chair.

            “That’s better,” Izzy said. She let out a long breath, the knife still poised at her throat. She quickly knelt to pick up her own gun where I’d discarded it, then pointed it around the room as she straightened up, sweeping it back and forth as though it were a turret scanning the horizon. No one moved, watching her in a patient and almost polite manner.

            She finally settled with the gun pointed in Gam’s general direction. Her eyes, meanwhile, swiveled over to face Kayla. “Alright, now you’re gonna talk. Where are you getting your information from? Why the hell did you have to drag Mads and everyone else into this shit? Where the fuck are Zach and Aaron?”

            “I already told you I don’t know where the others are,” she said in a surly, almost pouting manner. “I know where the _mastermind_ is, though.”

            “You’re saying the mastermind isn’t either of them?” I asked while Izzy shot me an irritated glance.

            “No, that’s not what I mean,” Kayla said with a slow smile. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.” Before I could press further, she turned her attention back to her sister. “Mads is here because I can’t hold you at gunpoint while being set on fire. It wouldn’t work out. I needed a third party to keep you in place _for_ me. I didn’t know they were going to bring their whole _entourage_ , however. So that’s a bit of a disappointment.”

            “Alright,” Izzy said. “Where are you getting all this info from, then?”

            “I told you, I want Mads to figure that out.”

            Izzy craned her neck, digging the knife further into her skin.

            “Fine, you brat,” Kayla said, grimacing from the pool chair. Her expression cleared as she adjusted her sunglasses, movements slow and tauntingly deliberate. “I suppose I’ll have to walk all of you through this, then. Let’s have a quick review! Mads, what did you learn about the mastermind while you were trying to save Caehl?”

            “That they can possess people?” I said tartly.

            “Any specifics about that?” she asked in a purr.

            I looked at Izzy, reluctant to keep this up. She offered me nothing more than a grimace. “The victim’s right eye glows red,” I said. “And it seems as though the mastermind can possess anyone they want to.”

            “Precisely the answer I was looking for. And when you exited Caehl’s room, what did you find changed about the prison?”

            “It was on fire,” I muttered.

            “Yes, and what else?”

            “What do you mean, what else?”

            She sighed. “When you came to the pool, what did you find different about me?”

            I looked at Olivia, who seemed alarmed, and then back at Kayla. “You were wearing sunglasses?”

            “Yes. Now, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this room is rather dimly lit. And there’s no fire in here, at least not at the moment. So why, praytell, would I have any reason to be wearing sunglasses?”

            “Because you’re an asshole.”

            “Sure, but there’s another reason too.”

            I sighed. “I don’t know, because…?”

            “Because…?”

            I stared at her.

            She huffed, leaning forward in the pool chair with one leg crossed over the other, her elbow on her knees. “Because I had something to hide, perhaps?” She tipped the sunglasses down the bridge of her nose with one hand, and I saw with a thrill of horror that her right eye was glowing a bright, blood red. Izzy sucked in a breath next to me. I heard Olivia let out a sigh.

            Kayla’s green-and-vermillion gaze swung over to Izzy. “You see, nii-san, it doesn’t matter who’s holding the most dangerous guns, or who has the most valuable information. When you have the mastermind on your side, none of that matters. It doesn’t matter because you’ve already won.”

            “So what?” Gam snarled. “We’ve been talking to the mastermind this whole fuckin’ time?”

            “Oh, no, no,” Kayla said, waving a hand in her direction. “I wouldn’t get taken over so easily. You see, the mastermind and I have a bit of an agreement in play. Our objectives are the same—he wants Izzy to kill me, I want Izzy to kill me—so it simply makes sense for the two of us to work together rather than separately.” She took her sunglasses off, folded them very carefully, and then chucked them over her shoulder. “You might wonder why he doesn’t just possess Izzy and force her to kill me. He’s certainly capable of that, but… truth be told, it’s much more difficult to possess a living student than it is a tulpa. A tulpa such as myself is ‘part of the code,’ as it were, so taking over one of us isn’t much of a problem. But a living student is a mere visitor in this fake world, so assuming control of one of them is a much more difficult endeavor.” She laughed abruptly. “At first he was a little mad that I was telling all of you that, but really you’ve seen it happen before. So there’s no reason for him to care.”

            “You mean you’re talking to him?” I said, filled with a sort of wondrous horror.

            “Of course,” Kayla said, grinning brilliantly at me. “He’s in my head, after all. That’s where I’m getting all my information from. Truth be told, under more normal circumstances I don’t know if the two of us would have gotten along—he’s either far too moody or far too serious for my tastes. But in this current situation, the two of us are quite the pair.” She snickered again. “He’s funny, when he tries.”

            The room was quiet for a moment, the roar of the fire distantly lulling us. “You mean you willingly let this fucker into your head?” Izzy asked, voice low and level.

            “I’m very serious about saving you, nii-san,” she said.

            Gam let out a long breath. “This is ridiculous, Kayla. Will you just tell us where he is? Or who he is?”

            “And let you run off and ruin my chance of saving Izzy?” she said. “Certainly not. I die. Now.” Her arm shot out, pointing at her sister. “By _her_ hand.”

            “I know who he is,” Nikita said after a brief pause. “While I’m reluctant to say it, I am not sure we need Kayla’s information.”

            “How do you know?” I asked her from across the room.

            She raised her head to look at me. “I saw him outside of Caehl’s cell, while all of you were in the simulation. He had a hood over his face, but I could tell who it was. He sat down against the wall with his eyes closed. I had assumed he was sleeping, so I did not intervene—but I believe now that he was there to possess Caehl from proximity. He left not long before you exited.”

            “Who was it?” I almost screamed.

            “No!” Kayla yelled, standing up to face Nikita. She said it so loud that the room was startled into silence. She hesitated briefly, then narrowed her eyes. “You can’t tell them. If you do, the mastermind will leave me. I’ll lose my upper hand. Don’t you want to save Izzy?” She spun around, red eye a burning beacon to fuel her frustration as she fueled the fire. “Why will none of you work with me?”

            “You’ve turned into a tyrant, Kayla,” Olivia said, voice surprisingly soft. “I can see where you’re coming from, but… why would we help you when you’re like this?”

            “You can’t let her die!” she shouted back, gesturing at Izzy. “You can’t _dare_ let her die. Are all of you stupid? Can’t you see that? I love her! She cannot die. Nothing else matters.”

            “And _we_ love _you_ , Kayla,” Olivia pursued. “ _Both_ of you.”

            Kayla stared at her in amazement. Then she scoffed. “Why would I listen to you? You’re a stranger to me. Mads said that _you_ don’t have your memories either, so it’s not like I can trust anything you say. And I _know_ —” She pointed, fierce, then lowered her hand with a breath. “The mastermind has told me a lot of things. I understand how this is supposed to go now. It was enough to have one mastermind here, to supervise—but _you’re_ the one who wanted to start resurrecting people. _You_ were the only one with that power. It isn’t right. Let the dead stay dead. Why can’t all of you see how this is supposed to go?”

            “Kayla, if we can save people’s lives—” I started.

            “Shut up!” she hissed at me. “I want to save people’s lives too. Believe me, I do. But I had my chance. My sister hasn’t. She’s still alive. Should I just throw her—or throw her _memories_ —to the wolves? Just for the sake of my own petty survival? No! I won’t let you _kill her_!”

            I was going to respond, but Izzy had begun to cry.

            I looked over at her in amazement, hardly able to believe the sobs I was hearing. This, from the girl who had hardly ever raised her voice above a dry mutter; this, from the girl who had pressed my knife into her own throat without fear; this, from the girl who vehemently faced every challenge the prison had thrown at her with the hard wit and derisive passion of a worldly soul—this same girl had lowered her head, had dropped the knife in her hand, had let the gun slip from her grasp, and was sobbing so hard that her frame shook.

            “I… I-Izzy…” I said.

            “I get it, okay?” she said, coughing, gagging on a sob. She wiped at her face with her arm and raised burning eyes to look at Kayla. “I get it. I can’t do any of this on my own. You have to save me. You have to get everyone screaming and pointing weapons at each other. You have to get some poor fucker to hold me at gunpoint. You’ve gotta force me into the worst shit possible, the worst fucking thing possible, and then you’re gonna turn around and tell me that it’s all for my own good. I get it. I get it! Is this really want you want?” She turned and snatched the matches from my grasp, holding up the box for Kayla to see. “Is this _really_ what you want? I’ll do it, okay? I’ll _do it_ , Kayla, because I’m just so fucking _tired,_ do you see? I can’t do this anymore! I don’t know what to do with you. I don’t know what to expect from you. You’re the _smarter_ one, okay? I admit it. I may be older, but you’re the smarter one. And you _scare_ me, do you understand? I can’t do this anymore, I’m just so tired of it. So if you—if you _really_ want me to, I’ll—” She was on the verge of tears again, gripping the box so tightly that it had partially crumpled.

            Kayla’s expression had completely cleared. I had never seen her so stunned before—her gaze told me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Izzy had never before been pushed to this extreme of an edge. “Izzy, I…” she began, voice clear and full of remorse. “I… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I hadn’t realized…” She walked a bit closer, around the corner of the pool chair, her hand out to her sister. “I… I didn’t mean to…” Her fingers clenched, her eyebrows lowered. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps there’s a better way. Maybe we can—”

            Suddenly, Kayla’s expression went blank. Her right eye briefly flared a brighter red, and then her gaze twisted into something sinister and sonorous. Kayla wasn’t in control anymore. The mastermind had taken it from her. I looked over at Izzy; but she had her head lowered, wiping tears, and hadn’t seen…

            The mastermind brought a swelling grin to Kayla’s face, laughing in her voice. “I was just kidding about all that, _nii-san._ (With sarcasm, cutting.) Of course I want you to light that match. Free yourself, sister.”

            Izzy looked up, eyes wide with hurt. She hadn’t noticed the change. “F-Fine,” she said.

            “Izzy, wait—” I started, but it was too late. She flared a match to life and dropped it on the fuel-soaked ground before I could make a single move.

            The fire ate up the liquid, racing across the ground, and was upon Kayla in an instant. I saw the red light in her eye wink out, the mastermind having departed, having completed his job. The fuel roared to life, ringing around Kayla, and immediately she began screaming.

            It was the most horrible, most violent, most wrenching sound I had ever heard in my life. It was daggers driven into my ears—spears of ice, molten lava poured into my skull. The noise of it made everything burn and freeze all at once. She writhed, beat at herself, ensconced in flame, and—though I wasn’t looking too closely—amid the heat of her struggle I saw her eyes roll hopefully towards the pool, in her haste having forgotten the fuel that she herself had poured into it.

            She dove in, and in an instant the entire pool was a perfect square of flame. When she resurfaced, she wasn’t screaming anymore, her body floating face-down in the water, the flames eating her, the roaring dulling my senses and the crackling smell making my eyes water from all the acridity.

            Izzy was still, breathing heavily, not moving, her eyes wide. She didn’t realize that the mastermind had tricked her. As I stared at her, a sense of despair flowered in my stomach, blooming and sending twisting vines crawling all through my limbs. Was I fated to tell her the truth? To tell her that her sister had been about to change her mind, but the mastermind had intervened? Was I the one cursed to magnify her pain in my pitiful attempt to clean up this mess? I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I couldn’t.

            Before anyone could manage a single word, the door to the pool swung open. Zach was standing there, the image wreathed by the flames that coated the prison behind him. “Everyone, I—” He stopped himself when he saw the aftermath of the chaos which had unfolded in this room. His expression fell in a mockery of confusion and despair.

            My heart was suddenly burning.

            Skirting around the line of fire at the far end of the pool, I strode across the tiles to the front of the room, barely able to still the shaking in my limbs. “ _You_ ,” I spat. “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who did all this. You’re the one who’s been killing them.”

            “What?” he said, stepping back, holding his umbrella to his chest.

            “It _has_ to be you,” I growled, bearing down on him. “I’ve been talking to Aaron for the past 30 days. I trust him. I know him. He’s nothing like you, you _animal_ , you fucking _asshole_ —you-you-you—look at what you did to Izzy! Look at what you did to Gam! All of this—all of this is your fault!”

            “Mads, I-I—” he staggered backwards into the burning hall. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I—”

            “You were the one to start the murders. You were the one to start all the violence. You decided to stick around after you killed Malcolm, for _no_ reason, you didn’t need to do that… You’re the one who keeps disappearing at all these random convenient times, right when the mastermind shows up—you promised to guard Izzy’s door and then you disappeared! You’re the one who brought up all the memory loss, trying to make yourself look innocent. You’re the one who lost his eye—your _right_ eye, just like Caehl and Kayla when they were possessed—I bet it’s not even a socket behind that eye patch, is it? It’s some red fucking void or some shit, right? Because you’re the mastermind, you’re the one who keeps hurting people—”

            My violent ministrations had chased him down the hall and out into the main part of the prison, the fire dancing at the far corners of the area like a ring, cornering him. I reached over and ripped the eyepatch from his eye, and behind it—behind it was his eye socket, the flesh around it bruised and dark, fading to black as it gave way to nothing, skin scarred and pockmarked and tired, and the hole; black, empty, circling, a void, endless, empty, empty, empty, empty, nothing there at all, a vortex to draw me in, a lie, a lie, a lie, I was wrong, I was wrong…

            “Wh-What?” I said, suddenly frightened.

            Instinct told me to raise my head, so I did.

            At the far end of the hall, near the corner of the cafeteria, the flames running dual pillars of light on either side of him, was a figure.

            He had a black and white jacket with a zigzag pattern. He had tousled brown hair, half-hidden by the hood of his jacket. He was tall, and looked strong, and in the waves of heat coming off of the fire he seemed to sway in my vision. His face was hidden in darkness but his right eye, glowing, was a beacon of blood red. He was walking towards us—slowly, ponderously, in no particular hurry.

            “What… What… What…”

            Zach spun around as I stumbled back from him, and he immediately started, physically crippled with horror at the approaching figure.

            The others had come running up behind us—Gam, Izzy, and Olivia. They looked on in a breathless wonder.

            “It’s—it’s Aaron,” I said. “Aaron is the mastermind.”

            “No, I don’t think so,” Olivia murmured in my ear.

            “What?” I said, looking at her.

            “I think that’s Aaron’s tulpa,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops! Everything is terrible!


	32. 5.6 "The Glory"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> glory (/ˈɡlôrē/)
> 
>  _noun_  
>  1\. high renown or honor won by notable achievements.  
> 2\. magnificence; great beauty. 
> 
> _verb_  
>  1\. take great pride or pleasure in.

Trial Part 2

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<ZACHARY>

}

            The heat of the fire, the dark of the prison, the heavy presence of the approaching figure, the uncomfortable feeling of my eye socket exposed to the air, the cold weight of Phantom Dancer’s handle… all of it amassed together into one spiraling, overwhelming, violent reaction in my mind. I could hardly think straight, I was so full of sudden energy, of sudden fear. As I staggered away from the figure I almost stumbled into Mads behind me and shied away from them, Phantom Dancer clutched tightly to my chest.

            Mads, meanwhile, was looking around in a daze: backwards at the two masterminds and Izzy, forward at the figure approaching, and then finally at me. They grit their teeth in a self-abusive rage, as though struggling with words that wouldn’t come, and then swung around to face Olivia.

            “What do you mean, ‘tulpa’?” they said. “I thought Aaron didn’t have a tulpa.”

            “So did I,” she said back. “But it looks like we were wrong. There’s no way that person is Aaron—just look at him.”

            I did, on instinct. The figure was still a couple hundred yards off from us, and in no particular hurry. The bright red glow of his eye was sickening, making my vision swim from the abrasiveness of it. Save for that, at this distance he looked mostly the same as Aaron (though I noted through the haze that he wasn’t wearing glasses). That said, there was certainly something unnatural about his appearance—he had a presence to him, something foreboding and sickening that made my skin itch. And—though I wasn’t planning on saying it out loud—he looked _familiar._ I couldn’t shake the horrible feeling that I had encountered this mock version of Aaron before somehow, in some place that now escaped my memory.

            “You’re right,” Mads conceded, looking back again. “That’s not Aaron. But how…?”

            “He didn’t have a real tulpa,” Olivia said. “When he entered the prison, the program must have created a fake tulpa for him. A sort of… placeholder. It’s a pretty straightforward program, after all—it’s not meant to deal with aberrations. That’s the only logical answer I can think of.”

            “So he’s… not real?” Gam asked.

            “He’s a glitch,” Olivia said. “A glitched version of Aaron to fill in what was missing. What else could it be?”

            “Then where’s the real Aaron?” Mads said. “And—hang on, where’s Nikita?”

            I looked around, as did the others. I hadn’t noticed at the time, so shaken was I by Mads’ speech, but it seemed as though Nikita wasn’t with us anymore.

            There was a moment of silence. Then Izzy muttered, “She took off down the other end of the hall while we were ogling the asshole over there. Don’t ask me where the fuck she’s going, cause I wouldn’t know.”

            I looked over. The mastermind was about half of the way to us now. As my eyes drifted, I noted my eyepatch on the ground (discarded by Mads) and bent to retrieve it. It took only a moment to reattach it. When I looked back at the others, I was alarmed to see Mads in my face again.

            “I’m gonna take care of that fucker in a minute,” they said, nodding towards our enemy. “But first things first, I want some answers out of you. You’re obviously not the mastermind, so why the hell did you keep disappearing? Why did you abandon Izzy? _Why_ did you decide to _stay_ here?”

            “I… I…” Heat was rushing to my face. “I… wasn’t doing anything wrong, I promise…”

            “Then explain yourself,” they snapped.

            My jaw clenched. The mastermind was getting closer. I sighed, closing my good eye with a grimace. “Okay. I… I was scared.”

            “What?”

            “I was scared,” I repeated, still unable to look at them. “All these bad things kept happening whenever I was involved. Jack took my eye out, and then he died. After AJ told everyone that she thought I had killed Malcolm, _she_ died. Jacob was supposed to live, a-and I can’t help but feel like I had something to do with that, and… and I just didn’t want something bad to happen to Izzy. If I stayed there, if I stayed involved, I just _knew_ she was going to get hurt.”

            Mads frowned at me. “So what did you do?”

            “I ran. I ran and hid. Do you remember when you found me in the prop room, in the back of the theatre? When I was hiding there? I also hid there when we were looking for Laura. This time I basically did the same thing, except I had to hide in my room instead. I… I just… I was too scared and ashamed to face everyone else. I didn’t want any of you to get hurt.”

            There was a pause. “So that’s been your plan this whole time?” they said. “To hide whenever things got shitty?”

            I didn’t say anything, still unable to look them in the eyes. My head was lowered and my cheeks burned. I hadn’t wanted to say any of this to anyone, but at this point it was like I had no choice. “I already told you why I stayed here after killing Malcolm,” I said, forcing myself to continue. “I wanted to help everyone. That was the reason. But it’s such a joke, isn’t it? I haven’t helped at all. I’ve just made everything worse.”

            Mads didn’t respond, and their silence only made me hurt more. Now I finally dared to look up—they were expressionless, a blank slate, completely closed to me. Every part of my being felt shattered. And I had no one to blame but myself.

            By now, the mastermind had finally approached. He paused a few yards away from us, still and watching from beneath the hood of his jacket, identical to Aaron’s. Now that he was this close, I could get a proper look at him. His outfit was, in every respect, completely identical to the ensemble that I normally saw Aaron wear, right down to the red diamond necklace around his neck. His right eye was much more alarming up close—the entire eye was pitch black save for a shining iris of red that rolled atop. Beneath his left eye, _cracks_ were visible: cracks in his skin, jagged and geometric, the sort of angry red wounds you might expect to find on a robot. The ahoge that poked through the top of his hoodie was also different from Aaron’s—most of it was completely normal, but the top section actually seemed to be _degrading_ , flecks of the hair follicles discolored or disjointed, literally disconnected from his head. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like blocks of pixels clustered together.

            He still had yet to step any closer. Mads said, “Who are you?”

            “I’m Aaron,” he said, expression sneering, almost bemused.

            “No you’re not. You’re his tulpa, right?”

            He blinked. “I’m Aa… Aaron.”

            “You’re a fuckin’ sicko, is what you are,” Gam muttered.

            “He’s a glitch,” Olivia murmured, with a look of something like wonderment. “He’s no one. He was never supposed to exist.”

            He narrowed his eyes at all of us, almost squinting, his countenance at once both curious and annoyed. “That’s enough,” he said. He pointed past me, towards the rest of the group. “You need to kill me. All the other tulpas are dead—or _gone_ —so it’s time.”

            Gam lifted her gun—“Gladly”—but before she could get any further, Olivia put her hand out in front of the barrel. Gam paused, looking at her in bafflement. Olivia said, “He’s Aaron’s tulpa. If we kill him, Aaron won’t be able to escape the prison.”

            “Goddamnit,” she said.

            “You… You…” The mastermind ground his teeth together, and as his lips pulled back the shining white molars thus revealed seemed pincher-like, as though they had been sharpened against a whetstone. Or perhaps not? It was hard to tell. The black of his mouth seemed to pulsate around the white bone, swallowing it and morphing its shape in strange ways. “I see what you’re doing now,” he said as he struggled to composed himself. “Hiding from me… ch-changing the story…” _Something_ had clearly gotten him very agitated.

            “He’s like a little kid,” Gam scoffed—but the humor quickly left her expression. “This wasn’t how he acted when he was possessing people.”

            “I guess we caught him off-guard,” Mads said.

            He took a breath, and then seemed calm again. “I don’t know what you did to Ash. They were supposed to die. I don’t know what you did to them, but…” He huffed. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m the only one left. You need to fix this.” He was still staring at the group behind Mads and I; steadily, his foot sliding backwards into a set stance, he unsheathed the machete at his side. “I won’t let you mess this one up.”

            Mads had tensed up behind me. “Why are you doing this? We’re trying to save people.”

            “So am I,” he growled. “The _right_ people. If all of you would have just followed the _rules_ …! This would have been easy. All I want is for the tulpas to die. Why is that _simple_ rule so hard for you to follow?”

            “So what? You want Aaron to kill you now?” Gam snarled. “You’re just gonna lay down and let him fuck you up?”

            “No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no.” The mastermind brought his free hand up to his face, rubbing at it as though struggling to scrape something away. When he raised his head again, his eyes blazed with fury. “You’re in on it. You’re all in on it, I know you are. I-I-It’s all just some sick joke—hiding the student, hiding the person who needs to kill me, telling all these lies, confusing everyone… You _all_ must be in on it! I _know_ you are!”

            “In on— _what?_ ” Mads said, but apparently the time for explanation was over before it could even begin: the mastermind began to walk closer, the machete gleaming in firelight at his side.

            “If you won’t explain yourselves,” he said. “If you just want to play games with me… Then maybe I should kill _all_ of you.”

            Olivia took a half-step back, looking hurriedly at Gam. “We need to get you and Izzy out of here. The portal…”

            “But the entrance is on the other side of the prison,” Gam said. We had all begun to back up, very slowly, eyes constantly flicking back to our attacker.

            “And I can’t open it up from here,” she responded. “Only Monobear can do that.”

            “You’re on the outside still,” Gam said. “Run the fuck over to my hideout.”

            “But then you all have to wait… It’ll take too long.”

            “What other choice do we have?”

            “Guys…” Mads said. The wall of fire was getting uncomfortably close behind us.

            “How are we supposed to get _around_ this guy, anyway?” Izzy added.

            Before anyone could respond, the mastermind closed the remaining distance with a few quick, confident steps forward, and swung his machete down at Mads with every known instinct to kill…

            …And I met his blade with the shaft of my umbrella, nearly falling to my knees from the strength of the hit. My teeth, my fingers, my very bones all rattled from the kinetic energy cascading through me, my core ringing like a tuning fork. But somehow, I held my ground. The mastermind grunted in response, pushing the blade harder down on me.

            “Jesus, careful,” Mads said. “He can possess people.”

            “You can possess people,” I repeated, eyes on him, body still rattling all over. Fear and wonder washed all over me. His bright red eye seemed to be the only thing in existence. “I… I’m missing memories.”

            He blinked, expression clearing. “Oh right, you don’t remember. I made you forget.” A grin cracked his mouth, shadow-white teeth pulsating all over again. “You were the first person I talked to. I thought, cause you were so nice and acquiescent and all that, I thought for sure you would listen to what I said. But you didn’t. You fought me. You said you weren’t ever gonna kill Malcolm, no matter what I did. And I got mad, so I _made_ you do it. It was hard, cause you were alive…” The grin, even wider. “But I did it.”

            My eye was wide. My grip on Phantom Dancer nearly faltered. “You… You made me. I didn’t kill Malcolm. _You_ did.”

            “Don’t be stupid,” he said back, his face inches from mine. “You were fighting me the whole time. I made you forget all that, but you were fighting. You were aware and conscious when you ended his life. And even if you hadn’t been—well, it was still your hands, your weapon. _You_ killed him. Your memories wouldn’t have come back if you hadn’t, so you know I’m right.”

            And he’d altered my memories so that I wouldn’t tell anyone about him? He could _alter memories?_ I was resisting the urge to start shaking; just how powerful was this… this creature?

            As this exchange went on, Mads and the others had begun to slide slightly to the side, seeking an escape from his impending onslaught. At the end of this speech, the mastermind caught notice and swung his blade away from Phantom Dancer with an unholy screech of steel. “You’re not getting away,” he said, advancing.

            I swung in front of him again, half-extending the umbrella canopy. “Yes they are.”

            “Zach?” Mads said behind me.

            My gaze found Olivia. “You said you need time to open up the elevator, right? So everyone can escape.”

            She nodded.

            “I’ll buy you that time, then. I’ll keep the mastermind distracted.”

            “Zach, that’s…” Mads shook their head. “Zach, that’s suicide. This guy is insane. You couldn’t possibly—”

            They were cut off as the mastermind swung at me again, growling. My attention was overwhelmed by the process of catching his three consecutive hits, the final striking dangerously close to the cloth of Phantom Dancer’s canopy. I managed to hold him, however, and as our weapons pressed into one another I risked responding to Mads.

            “It doesn’t matter,” I told them through the strain. “Don’t you see? The reason I stayed here, the reason I did any of this… it was so I could protect all of you. This whole time, all I’ve done is hurt people—but now, I can give everyone a chance. This is what I want.” My voice wavered, but only a little. I was overwhelmed with a sudden furious flood of pride.

            “You haven’t hurt anyone, Zach,” Olivia said, surprising me (Didn’t she forget everything? Why would she suddenly care?).

            Mads was shaking their head. “I know you’re mad at the mastermind, but—”

            “No,” I said quickly. “This isn’t about a grudge. I _am_ mad, you’re right, but… Protecting my friends is so much more important than anything like that. I’m not fighting him for me. I’m fighting him for all of you.”

            The mastermind said, “You shouldn’t talk about a person like they’re not in the room.” I spun around just in time to meet the next downward sweep of the machete. We were locked like this, steel screaming.

            “Go!” I yelled. There was a moment where all that could be heard was the roar of the fire, the crying of our weapons locked together, and then the others turned and ran. Their footsteps were a slow, fading crescendo. The mastermind grit his teeth, bearing down on me. The crescendo passed; only fire and steel remained. He pulled away from me, spinning around in pursuit of my friends.

            I cocked the umbrella and pointed it at him, ready to extend the canopy and fire. “Stop right there,” I said. “You may not be human, but that doesn’t mean you’re indestructible, right? If I shoot you, I could kill you.”

            He was still, unmoving. Finally he turned his head, the right red eye looking at me. “Fine,” he said. “Whatever.” He turned fully to face me, brandishing the machete in both hands.

            My heart pounded. For a moment the two of us stood there, staring at each other, several feet of space between us. Phantom Dancer felt loose and comfortable in my grip, the canopy half-extended and my hands still tingling warmly from the strength of the glitch’s last attack. His machete (Aaron had called it Blade of the Ruined King, but was it really the same one?) shone brightly with the firelight reflecting off of the blade. The prison was dark, but around us, in a messy ring, the edges of the room burned endlessly. Here, at the core, things weren’t unbearably hot; but the heat still swept over my skin in occasional droves, making every part of me want to erupt in a warm shiver.

            Was this really what I wanted? Mads’ words had filled my head with doubts. But it didn’t take me long to shake those doubts away—everything I’d said to them had been true. Even if other people didn’t believe me when I said all this was my fault, _I_ believed it. A person like me didn’t have many chances for redemption, or explanation, but here I had been given a golden opportunity to protect my friends and defend my honor. This mastermind, this creature of the simulation, had wronged all of us; but even if he were not my enemy, even if my task were simple and lacked the tassels of vengeance—even then I would have set to it with a fervor, because my end goal was to protect the people I loved. There was nothing in the world more important than that.

            Many of them didn’t have their memories back, so they couldn’t understand the things that I did. I loved my friends. Really, I did. Sometimes I hesitated to say (or even think) such a thing, overwhelmed by the fear and commitment that the statement was laced with; but it was true. I really did love them. And now, afraid but unflinching, I was ready to fight for them: for their honor, their hope, their future, their gold, their glory.

            The mastermind charged me, machete carving out a wide arc at his side. I stepped in the other direction, narrowly avoiding him as I unveiled Phantom Dancer’s hidden blade. He was faster than his previous behavior had let on. Despite my rush of adrenaline and bravado, I was forced to admit to myself that I needed to be very careful about this; if this mastermind truly _was_ Aaron’s tulpa, then I had to avoid wounding him too egregiously. Too aggressive of a move, and I would doom Aaron to death (effectively cementing my inability to be useful, my subconscious was quick to remind me).

            He caught his own momentum and pivoted on one heel, going in for another stab that I swatted away with the hidden sword. My weapon was much thinner than his, and the consequences of this were quick to show themselves when my blade literally wobbled from the force of contact. My whole arm, in fact, shook from it—I lacked the muscle necessary to overcome the strain and attempt a counterstrike. And _hell_ , he was fast: I barely had enough control to lift my arm as his next swing approached.

            Within moments I had been cornered into a defensive game; his flurry of onslaughts soon developed a rhythm, and as I was unable to recover quick enough to change my position in battle, I had no choice but to keep blocking. My arms were quivering within five hits, shaking within ten; I felt numb by 20. He was horrifically strong. Several hits after losing count I faltered—the machete was quick to find the weakness. I was sliced across my stomach, and knocked to the ground by the force of the hit.

            He laughed—not one of those outright villain laughs, but rather a sort of private laugh to himself. An almost surprised laugh, as though these were results that he hadn’t anticipated. I’d figured he would be eager to make quick work of me, but _that_ had been embarrassingly quick. I grimaced, clutching vaguely at my wound as I struggled to stand again.

            “That was easy,” he said as he approached, flicking wicks of blood off of the machete. “None of you could take me one-on-one. Not in this world. This is _my_ place, not yours.”

            I was struggling to get up, and he was clearly intent on killing me. Swallowing my fears, I swung the top half of my umbrella around and shunted the canopy open, firing a dart. It whizzed past his shoulder, only missing because he was fast enough to jerk his body to the side. Still, the distraction gave me enough time to clamber to my feet and attempt a counterattack.

            I swung overly wide, hoping to block out any escape routes. In response he retreated a few steps and made a violent upwards strike with the machete, clearly hoping to knock at least one half of my weapon out of my grasp: and he almost succeeded, too. My hand quivered from the strain. I was pretty sure he’d nearly broken my wrist.

            He attempted to follow this up with a stab forwards, which I batted away with a swing of the canopy. It occurred to me at this moment that I’d been following misguided attempts to make this a fair fight—some deluded part of me had thought it would be good sportsmanship if I didn’t rely on my darts. Logic was returning, however, and with it the realization that if I _didn’t_ use my darts, I was going to die.

            I batted away a few more strikes, on the last one managing to hit his arm out a little wider than usual. Taking advantage of the opportunity, I sheathed the blade—and with both hands holding Phantom Dancer steady, I began to fire a volley of darts in his direction.

            He dodged the first few with relative ease, but on the fifth I overcompensated and thus he didn’t move far enough: it plugged his shoulder, and he buckled briefly in response. In my haste I’d shot another dart to follow this one up, and it seemed a dead-ringer for his heart—but my horror was absolved when the projectile instead pierced his pendant, producing a high, sharp, resounding _crack_ that echoed through the prison, briefly drowning out the rapport of the flames.

            The near-fatal dart bounced off, relatively harmless. He straightened, his shoulder bleeding and stuck, but his focus entirely on the necklace: the red diamond was cracked through. He made a motion of swinging the injured arm (the right arm), as though in disbelief. Then he turned his attention back to me and charged with a roar.

            His determination to be rid of me had doubled. I blocked his first strike with both hands, but I didn’t have the strength for another one of those; so I brought out the hidden blade once more. Rather than meet his hits head-on, I attempted to parry them, directing his blade out of harm’s way with my own. His sheer strength made it difficult: each of his attacks were set fixedly on their target, and backed up by overwhelming force. I found I had to move myself physically, as well as keep up my parry, in order to successfully avoid the danger.

            The mastermind had now realized the threat my darts produced, and was doing everything in his power to keep me from using them again. Still, I had another hidden advantage: I was smaller. I chanced an opportunity to duck beneath his swinging arm after one strike, and thus under him, I managed to drag my blade across his middle.

            He cried out in shock and pain as I detached from him, now behind him: he stumbled forward a few steps, but nevertheless recovered much quicker than I ever had. I turned to face him. To my potent horror and alarm, I was just in time to see him _throw_ the machete at me, flinging it through the air as though it were a wicked axe blade built for the sole purpose of chopping my head off. I cowered in a panic, completely losing all sense of balance.

            I heard the machete clatter across the floor behind me, and straightened up. He’d already closed the distance between myself and him; I looked up at his bright red eye as his uninjured arm reached out and grabbed me around the neck. His expression was twisted and distorted in rage, but he made no sound: my vision swam from the force of his grip, squeezing my windpipe. He lifted me up off the ground and threw me across the prison.

            My good eye was swimming as I hit the far wall with a heavy thud. The rest of my senses soon became muddled as every part of my body was suddenly ensconced in heat (the fire, I realized in a dull daze), and I believe I started screaming as I scrambled blindly away from the flames. Instinct commanded me to roll across the cold ground once I’d found it, and I complied without hesitation.

            Several uncountable, unthinkable seconds (minutes? hours?) later, the pain left me as did the fire. I could feel and smell the smoke rising from my skin, and I struggled to push myself up on my hands and knees. I couldn’t do it. My limbs collapsed underneath me, every part of me shaking. My vision adjusted, and in a bleary film I saw that the mastermind had retrieved his machete. He strode towards me—sideways in my eye, the floor and his footsteps tilted up to deny gravity—and when he reached me he kicked me across the floor.

            I skidded to a halt several feet away, thoroughly winded. I struggled to suck in a breath—even half a breath, even a quarter of a breath, just a fraction of air—but I couldn’t. The blood from my stomach was sticking to my half-burned shirt. My skin was singed and raw. I could feel bruises forming everywhere (on my fingers even, in places where I hadn’t perfectly blocked the machete). I half-lifted myself, survival instinct kicking in, but I couldn’t even get to my knees before I collapsed once more. My eye was fixed on the mastermind as he approached. He had the machete raised upwards; he clearly planned on spearing me in the chest.

            So this was it, then. I was going to die.

            My heart pounded sickly as I lay there, fighting with the exhaustion bent on crippling me. Still, I almost didn’t feel too bad about it. I couldn’t say for sure how long I’d fought him for, but it must have been at least ten minutes. Before long—if she hadn’t already—Olivia would reach Gam’s fabled hideout and open the doors downstairs, allowing everyone to escape. They would be okay. I had ensured their survival. As I watched my maker approach, my only regret was that I wouldn’t be able to escape with them. I had stayed in the prison to help people—and that’s what I’d just done, wasn’t it? I’d helped them innumerably. This was exactly what I’d wanted. And yet…

            I didn’t want to die, of course. And I was still scared out of my mind. Death sounded incredibly painful and empty, a whole void yawning on the other side of my drained life force. I hoped he would be quick about it. I had angered him, sure, but he didn’t seem much the torturing type. As long as he sent me off with one quick stab, then I could die without any despair in my heart: I could die knowing full well that I had died helping my friends.

            He was grinning a shaky grin when he got to me. He had no reason to fear another unexpected counter-attack; I’d dropped both pieces of my weapon when I was rolling, and they were now scattered a good few feet away. There was nothing left to do but wait for his execution. He said, “I should have known that you’d be hard to put down. You’re the one I had to possess, after all. Maybe now you’ll finally understand that I’m the one in control.” I realized that he was about to kill me in the same way I'd killed Malcolm—I almost could have laughed from the brilliant horror that exploded through my being. He plunged the machete down…

            …And Nikita winged out of the darkness, meeting the steel with her staff raised in both hands.

            The surprise of it alone was enough to put him off balance—he stumbled backwards and she heaved with a soft (but audible) grunt as she forced him back. Wasting no time, she then immediately spun around and put her hand out for me. I was at first too dazed to grab it; she took my half-lifted hand of her own accord and pulled me up, bracing her staff against the ground. I nearly stumbled into her wiry frame, but she held me steady with one hand pressed against the soft part of my shoulder.

            “That was close,” she observed. Now upright, I noticed that her chest heaved with heavy, suppressed breaths—she must have ran here.

            “He’s still…” I said.

            She nodded once in affirmation. “We cannot kill him, but if we injure him enough…” I also nodded. She said, “You are very brave. Get your weapon.” And then she turned to face the mastermind once more.

            The length of her staff allowed her to keep his attacks at bay with relative ease, but I knew if it went on for too long that she would eventually falter like I had. Luckily, it didn’t take much time to retrieve Phantom Dancer. I was still dazed and dizzy, but the presence of Nikita had dramatically bolstered my spirits. The fire seemed to sway and spin around us as I approached the battle, Nikita and the mastermind also spinning in their own dance, a counter-routine to the performance of the flames, both spinning around and around one another, opposite and yet entwined. Nikita saw me and stepped to the side and thus I was invited into the dance, too—a dance with three participants, all with weapons raised, all seeking glory.

            I saw a flash of something that might have been concern cross the mastermind’s twisted expression. Throughout this whole process, he had looked focused and unrepentant, his whole being thrown into the task of defeating me—but now he looked strangely hunted, as though Nikita and I had cheated him of something. Almost as though he were pleading with us, and we had failed to listen. _Almost_ , but not quite; his expression continued to hold the lashes of snarls and growls, his shadow-teeth shining.

            All at once, he seemed to make a decision and lunged at me again. I met his strike with my blade, and Nikita prodded his open side with her staff, knocking him off balance. He reeled and swung at her, an attack which she was quick to bat away. In the interim I swung at his exposed arm, but he dashed to the side, away from both of us. Nikita advanced. Caged, he swung wildly at her. With a careful movement, like a spear fisher plotting his throw, she swept her staff forward and successfully hooked his already-injured arm.

            The mastermind writhed, and in his eagerness to get free from her he pulled to the side, in all the wrong direction. The wicked tip of her staff crook dug into the skin above his elbow, and then he was even more trapped than ever. Still, he struggled to pull away from her. I stood between the two of them, brandishing my blade, Nikita holding him fast.

            She looked at his arm, then at me. “Do it,” she said.

            I hesitated for a fraction of a second, awash with fear and trepidation. It seemed an incredible cost to me, but this creature was indomitable and overwhelming: it felt as though the only way to stop him was with something big. If this would be enough to let us break free, then it would be worth it. I recalled what he’d said earlier—that none of us could defeat him one-on-one—and was taken with a sudden rush of confidence. With Nikita by my side, I no longer had anything to fear. Gathering all the energy I could into my limbs, I dove forward and cut his arm off.

            I was shaken by the force it took to slice through his bone—but already weakened, and straining as he was against the staff, his limb came off with one steady slice of my blade. He clearly hadn’t been expecting it. The arm fell away with Nikita’s staff; he staggered back from both, spouting blood from the stump about halfway up where his elbow should have been. Now, instead of elbow, instead of forearm or hand or fingers, there was nothing but empty and clawing air. Red splattered and decorated the floor as he writhed away from us; I retreated to Nikita’s side.

            “H… Hh… ha…” he breathed, gnashing his teeth at us, hand grappling for the shadow of his missing arm. Nikita was watching him carefully, staff still raised, and it was clear by her intent expression that she was hoping he might fall unconscious. I could feel the slick blood dripping from my blade at my side. I stayed close to Nikita.

            The mastermind’s unsteady footsteps dragged him away from us, and after a moment he turned to face the other direction, hunched over, nursing his wound in pain. From within him a low, horrible groan emerged, the sound pitched and unstable and tilted just like his voice. He sounded about to sob from the pain. A pang of guilt raced through me, but before it could take root the following happened.

            He half-straightened up, hissing breaths through his teeth, the stump of his arm dangling at his side. Then, to my horror, lines of black seemed to race out of the marred flesh. As I watched, another arm grew in place of the lost one—but unlike its predecessor, it was not made of flesh and bone and muscle. Its parts consisted of perfectly black shadow; of chunky multicolored blocks like the ones in his ahoge; of unidentifiable shapes of matter and form that seemed to writhe up and down the new appendage like veins. Its fingers ended in sharp black dagger points, tips sparkling with corruption. The limb was larger than normal, oversized, hanging off of his right side like a tumor.

            He turned to us and laughed. Our goal had been to put him down, but instead we’d given him a weapon that we couldn’t defeat. He approached with a crazed grin, drunk on newfound power and blood loss.

            I looked at Nikita. She looked down at me.

            She said, very calmly, “Well, shit.” Then she grabbed my arm and we ran.

            He chased us to the edge of the cafeteria’s outer wall, but then stopped and pursued us no further. As we ran I glanced back to look at him, surprised. He was standing, breathing hard, watching us; the unnatural parts of his person glimmered with a spectral light, blacklit in every way. He seemed to have made up his mind about something. As I watched, he turned and walked calmly away.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            I sat near the lip of the elevator as Gam fixed bandages around my most major wounds, her expression screwed up in determination. Izzy and Mads were standing a few feet off, loitering in an awkward silence. Gam didn’t seem eager to talk while she worked, so I stayed silent—and anyway, I was feeling rather caught up in my own thoughts. Olivia had said that the mastermind had most likely left us to go search for Aaron, which would make sense if his goal truly was to have Aaron kill him. And anyway, it had appeared as though we’d really only briefly irritated the glitch; once his rage faded, he had no real reason to aggress us further.

            Still, it was all pretty frightening. And just where _was_ the real Aaron, anyway? I was beginning to get pretty worried about him. No one seemed to know his whereabouts, and based on our previous experiences it seemed likely that the mastermind would get very angry if his student couldn’t be found. I chewed on my concern as I sat there.

            My attention was grabbed by Olivia and Nikita as they approached the other side of the elevator, apparently mid-conversation.

            “…So I suppose it won’t matter much either way,” Nikita murmured levelly.

            Olivia was looking up at her with an expression of bewilderment. “It really doesn’t bother you at all?”

            “It works out in my favor, in many ways. I don’t want any interruptions.”

            They had come to the far lip of the elevator. Olivia paused, hands in her trench coat pockets, looking strangely thoughtful, strangely amazed. Nikita stood staring down at her over her nose, eyes half lowered, her mood utterly beyond comprehension. “That said,” Nikita continued. “I do not favor the consequences. I wish things could be made to proceed differently.”

            “Me too,” Olivia said blearily. There was a pause. She frowned, her expression knitting up in a way that was hard to unthread. “To be honest, I don’t know why I told you all this. It’s strange, I just… I suppose I saw you as something I needed to address. Being unreal and all, like me. It’s funny, I… I don’t know why I never talked to you earlier.”

            “Perhaps you were afraid,” the other said.

            “Were you?”

            “Considering the circumstances,” she said, “It would be hard to feel otherwise.”

            Olivia was quiet for a moment. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “Now I’m _sad_ I never spoke to you earlier.”

            “If I were real,” Nikita said. “I would tell you that we could try again, in another life. But I am not real, and neither are you. I do not believe there _is_ another life for us. It is a sad thing. But perhaps it is better that way. There are, after all, a million other worlds in which a different version of this story can be told. This one is ours, true enough. But it is never the only one.”

              The other was quiet. She put her hand out, as though to touch Nikita, but then remembered that her person was only a hologram and dropped it. This struck her as funny, and so she laughed. And in response Nikita pressed a hand to her lips, eyes closed, head tilted down in what was an obvious (but subdued) expression of mirth. For a brief moment this private humor of theirs was all that existed, the only piece of anything in the whole of the universe.

            Then Gam said, “Okay, done. At the very least you’re not falling apart anymore.”

            I looked her way as she straightened up, returning all the medical supplies to their case. “Thank you,” I said.

            “No problem, my dude. You really saved our asses back there. I’m just glad you made it out alright.”

            I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled at her. She returned the grin in an undeniably tired way, then raised her head to address the group. “Okay, time for us to get the hell out of here. Izzy and Zach, I don’t want to hear any whining from you two—your tulpas are dead, so it’s time to leave. Mads is hell-bent on solving this Aaron debacle, and they ain’t taking any of my shit on it, so I’m letting them stay. As for Nikita, you can do whatever the hell you want, I really don’t care. I just need to get out of here with Zach and Izzy so I can supervise said Aaron debacle uninterrupted. Is everyone clear?”

            There was nodding among the group.

            “Alright,” Gam said. She gestured at Izzy and me. “Let’s get going, then. You spottin’ us on the other side, Olivia?”

            The other mastermind nodded, then winked out of existence. Gam walked towards the elevator’s entrance, and Izzy and I followed. Once on board, all that remained was Nikita and Mads, looking down at us from their vantage point at the entrance. Nikita gave me a small wave, which I returned with a smile. Mads was silent. With an abrupt shudder, the elevator began to descend.

            I turned my attention away from the faces above me, focused on the trip downwards and all that it implied. I was finally getting out of here. Part of me was almost sad; it had been a long and hard road to this moment, one that could have ended long ago if I wasn’t so incredibly stubborn. I grinned inwardly, feeling the aches burrowing into my battered limbs. I felt brave. I felt okay.

            The elevator panels were beginning to close. Suddenly, Mads knelt and yelled, “Zach, I’m sorry! About all of it, you know?”

            I looked up at them, blinking in surprise. The prison lights seemed bright in comparison to the darkness of the elevator’s descent. I shook my head, still smiling. “It’s too late for that!” I called back.

            Their eyes widened. Then the panels slid shut, and I could see no more. The three of us finished the descent in silence. It was a long way down, but little about it perturbed me. At the bottom, I could see a bright silver light indicating the so-called portal that would take us to the real world. Izzy seemed distant and disinterested; I recalled hearing that she’d been down here before.

            As we walked closer, I could see Olivia on the other side. She was standing in a warm-looking wood-paneled room. Gam jogged through the aperture, seeming eager to be rid of this place. Izzy and I moved slower, in significantly less of a hurry. I recalled the violent image I’d seen of her sister floating upside-down in the pool, wreathed in flame.

            “Are you okay?” I asked her.

            Her head was lowered. She looked up at me and blinked distractedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” We stared at each other. Her jaw clenched and she looked down. “No, I’m not. But I’d like to pretend that I am. Is that okay with you?”

            “Of course it is,” I said.

            “How about indefinitely? Are you still okay with it then?”

            “Not as much,” I admitted after a pause. “But if you need time, then don’t let me be the one to stop you.”

            “That’s just the thing,” she said, and laughed in a hoarse and dangerous way. “If I never let anyone stop me, I’m bound to get away with some seriously wicked shit. I’ll take all sorts of atrocities to the grave. You know what I mean?”

            I nodded. Those bruises were beginning to sting. “Yeah,” I said. “I do.”

            By now we were standing in front of the portal. Izzy laughed again, the sound drowned out by the hoarseness that overwhelmed it. “I’m gonna miss her. I’m really… I’m gonna miss her. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet. Do you…? When you remembered Malcolm…” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “Nah, it’s not fair. If I’m not gonna talk, then I shouldn’t make you. Let’s just go, okay?”

            “I can talk if you want me to,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

            “No, really. I _don’t_ want you to. I’d rather just pretend for now.”

            “Okay,” I said.

            We were quiet for a moment, staring at each other, tired and battered. Then Izzy swept her hands out towards the portal, dipping her head at me. “My liege,” she said. I laughed and went through, into the light of the real world, Izzy following close behind me.

            We were upstairs in a cabin that was indeed warm and wooden. Various equipment was scattered along the walls and floor. It struck me as being much like the wreckage of some sci-fi set. Olivia was standing near the aperture, watching for us. When I saw her, I swept her up into a hug.

            “Hey,” she said, vaguely startled.

            “Thank you,” I said.

            She didn’t say anything. She simply hugged me back.

            Finally, I was out—and so were my friends. All that remained was Aaron. I found that I was feeling overwhelmingly hopeful. No matter what happened next, I would be watching, waiting, cheering for everyone and their safe return. Though I was no longer physically in the prison, I truly felt as though I were _there_ for my friends. Whatever was coming for us, I would be here to help them see it through. From now until the day I died.

            Outside, the moon was rising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's Chapter Five, then. Now for the final descent.


	33. 0 "(Re)al World"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got in a fight,  
> I was indisposed,  
> I was in despite all the wicked prose.  
> But I'm only a man.  
> And I do what I can.

CHAPTER ZERO: “Hedgehog’s Dilemma”

 

GIGI NOBBS (GG) created NEW THREAD at 1931.

 

GIGI NOBBS (GG) renamed NEW THREAD to CAMPSITE DISCUSSION at 1931.

 

\--NOV 13, 2018--

 

      (1932) GG: Okay, I’ve got this thread hidden from Tristan. Not as any personal offense to him, mind you! I simply think everyone should get a chance to discuss his proposal in private, as it’s a very serious situation.

 

      (1932) GG: I’m going to go to this campsite, because I think it’s worth the risk. That’s all I really have to say about it! I’m just here to monitor this thread for the rest of you.

 

RYAN KINKAID (Ryan) entered thread at 1932.

 

      (1932) Ryan: a) he’s my best friend b) not trusting him is stupid and c) there is no c that’s the end of the discussion. bye.

 

RYAN KINKAID (Ryan) left thread at 1933.

 

PAMELA CAMPBELL (Pameme) entered thread at 1933.

 

      (1933) Pameme: didnt tristan say he wanted to be called flynt now?

 

      (1933) GG: Yes, he did say that.

 

JAE BROWN (Jae) entered thread at 1933.

 

      (1933) Jae: yeah, that shit? that shit right there is suspicious af.

 

      (1933) GG: I wouldn’t necessarily agree. Many of us have changed names before, after all.

 

      (1934) Jae: sure, but never after disappearing for three years. during a WAR.

 

      (1934) Pameme: it would be fun to see everyone again

 

      (1934) Jae: yeah I guess

 

      (1934) Jae: I mean, yeah, it would be. idk I guess im just feeling a little off about it. the war only ended officially a couple days ago and now tristan shows up out of nowhere???

 

      (1934) Jae: it’s just weird, that’s all

 

      (1934) Pameme: i think it will be fun, i trust flynt

 

ENOCH ANDERSEN (Enoch) entered thread at 1934.

 

      (1935) Enoch: i wanna go and jae are you REALLY gonna split up the group by not coming with me jason and ohan

 

      (1935) Jae: ohan and jason agreed to go???

 

      (1935) Enoch: yeah i just talked to them in PM

 

      (1935) Jae: why didn’t you message me???

 

      (1935) Enoch: idk i just happened to talk to them first. are you really gonna split us up over this?

 

      (1937) Jae: fine, i’ll go

 

      (1937) Enoch: cool beans

 

ENOCH ANDERSEN left thread at 1937.

 

      (1937) GG: So, if I am understanding this correctly, Ryan, Pam, Ohan, Jason, Enoch, Jae, and myself have all agreed to go to the campsite and meet up with Flynt. Yes?

 

      (1937) Pameme: yep!

 

      (1938) GG: Why, that’s a track record of unanimous yesses so far.

 

BREE WHIPPLE (Candle) entered thread at 1938.

 

      (1938) Candle: Yeah, um... I don’t think I’m going to go, actually.

 

MADS MCBRIDE (Mads) entered thread at 1938.

 

      (1939) Mads: me neither

 

      (1939) GG: Might I ask why?

 

      (1939) Candle: It’s just

 

      (1939) Candle: You know, with Dexter out there

 

      (1939) Candle: I mean, if something goes wrong, I just don’t want to risk it. I need to find him first.

 

BUCKMINSTER WILD (Buck) entered thread at 1939.

 

      (1939) Buck: Mads I thought you said we were going to go?

 

      (1940) Mads: yeah but I thought about it a bit and… idk I just don’t really want to see anyone else right now

 

      (1940) Mads: no offense to you guys or anything just a lot has happened

 

      (1940) Buck: okay but I told Calise we were going and she really wants to go

 

      (1940) Mads: that’s fine, you guys can go without me

 

      (1940) Buck: Mads, c’mon, I don’t want to abandon you

 

      (1940) Buck: we’ve been traveling as a group for a reason

 

      (1940) Mads: can we talk about it in PM

 

      (1940) Buck: sure

 

BUCKMINSTER WILD (Buck) and MADS MCBRIDE (Mads) left thread at 1941.

 

      (1941) Candle: Yeah, um... is it okay if I don’t go, Gigi? I’m sorry, I’m just really not ready for something like this.

 

      (1941) GG: Of course! That’s why I made this thread, after all.

 

      (1941) GG: I know it’s a very hard decision to make.

 

      (1942) Candle: Okay, thank you

 

BREE WHIPPLE (Candle) left thread at 1942.

 

      (1942) Pameme: :(

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Xizi) joined thread at 1943.

 

NEIL DAVIS (Neil) joined thread at 1944.

 

      (1944) Neil: I’m going to go! I think it sounds like fun

 

      (1944) GG: I’ll mark you down on my list then~

 

      (1944) Neil: Okay, cool

 

NEIL DAVIS (Neil) left thread at 1944.

 

GAM PONYTORE (Gam) joined thread at 1944.

 

      (1945) GG: Hello Gam! What do the Ponytores have to say about this campsite idea?

 

      (1945) Gam: yeah, caehl and i have some... concerns about all this shit

 

      (1945) Gam: we have a gameplan though, we’re talking about it

 

      (1945) GG: Care to fill us in?

 

      (1946) Gam: you said flynt cant see this thread right?

 

      (1946) GG: Yes.

 

      (1946) Gam: okay so... were thinking about sending caehl in disguise. cause if this guy is actually tristan, he should be able to see right through it. if not then we’ll know we need to jump him

 

      (1946) GG: Aha, clever. So Caehl will be coming to the campsite in disguise, and you will be staying behind?

 

      (1947) Gam: yeah, something like that

 

      (1947) Gam: is that ok

 

      (1947) GG: I have no problem with it.

 

      (1947) Gam: alright, cool

 

      (1947) Gam: we’re still planning shit so ill tell you if theres any updates

 

GAM PONYTORE (Gam) left thread at 1948.

 

      (1948) Jae: Olivia why are you still using your codename???

 

      (1948) Xizi: Better question:

 

      (1948) Xizi: Why AREN’T you?

 

      (1948) Jae: uhhhh, because the war’s over, durrrhrrurhrhhhh

 

      (1948) Xizi: Sure, but you’ve always told me that you really liked yours

 

      (1949) Jae: yeah that’s true

 

JAE BROWN (Jae) changed name to JAE BROWN (Wires) at 1949.

 

      (1949) Xizi: Yes, very good

 

      (1949) Wires: what if we made a bunch of OCs based off of our codenames and RPed with them

 

      (1949) Wires: they can be like post-war bandits or medics or something

 

      (1949) Wires: omgomg hoooooly shit olivia that sounds amazing can we actually do that please???

 

      (1950) Xizi: I’m not against the idea

 

      (1950) Xizi: We should wait until after all this campsite business is taken care of, though

 

MAX BARRETT (Max) joined thread at 1950.

 

      (1950) Max: Are you going to go, Olivia

 

      (1950) Xizi: I was still thinking about it, but… probably

 

      (1950) Max: I’ll be going as well, then

 

      (1950) Max: Also... the war’s over. Do we really still need codenames?

 

MAX BARRETT (Max) left thread at 1951.

 

      (1951) Wires: awwwww the codenames made him salty

 

      (1951) Xizi: It’s okay

 

      (1951) Xizi: Here, I’ll fix it

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Xizi) changed name to OLIVIA FISHWICK (Wires) at 1951.

 

      (1951) Wires: DAMNIT

 

      (1951) Wires: Something wrong?

 

JAE BROWN (Wires) changed name to JAE BROWN (Xizi) at 1951.

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Wires) changed name to OLIVIA FISHWICK (Xizi) at 1952.

 

JAE BROWN (Xizi) changed name to JAE BROWN (Wires) at 1952.

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Xizi) changed name to OLIVIA FISHWICK (Wires) at 1952.

 

JAE BROWN (Wires) changed name to JAE BROWN (Xizi) at 1952.

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Wires) changed name to OLIVIA FISHWICK (Xizi) at 1952.

 

JAE BROWN (Xizi) changed name to JAE BROWN (Wires) at 1952.

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Xizi) changed name to OLIVIA FISHWICK (Wires) at 1952.

 

JAE BROWN (Wires) changed name to JAE BROWN (Xizi) at 1952.

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Wires) changed name to OLIVIA FISHWICK (Xizi) at 1952.

 

JAE BROWN (Xizi) changed name to JAE BROWN (Wires) at 1953.

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Xizi) changed name to OLIVIA FISHWICK (Wires) at 1953.

 

      (1953) GG: Will you two stoppit

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Wires) changed name to OLIVIA FISHWICK (Olivia) at 1953.

 

      (1953) Olivia: Sorry Gigi <:

 

      (1953) GG: u big nerdos

 

JAE BROWN (Wires) changed name to JAE BROWN (Jae) at 1953.

 

LAURA PEAPENBURG (Bottlenose) joined thread at 1954.

 

      (1954) Bottlenose: Oh, are we not doing the codename thing anymore?

 

      (1954) Olivia: Nah it’s alright Laura, we were just messing around

 

      (1954) Bottlenose: Ok

 

      (1954) Bottlenose: Well I just wanted to say that I don’t think I’ll be coming to the campsite. It sounds really unsafe to me and I’m just not comfortable with the idea of risking it.

 

      (1954) GG: Okay, thank you for being honest.

 

      (1955) Bottlenose: Mmhm

 

LAURA PEAPENBURG (Bottlenose) left thread at 1955.

 

ISABELLE SEAGRAVE (Izzy) joined thread at 1955.

 

      (1955) Izzy: jesus christ, is the spam over yet

 

      (1955) Izzy: zach and i aren’t coming, we’re gonna chill at a town a few miles out

 

      (1955) Izzy: that’s where most people who aren’t coming are gonna go, actually

 

      (1955) Izzy: so it’s like a second meetup i guess

 

      (1956) GG: Zach’s going with you? I’m surprised, I thought for sure he would be interested in the idea of this campsite.

 

ZACHARY JONES (King) joined thread at 1956.

 

      (1956) King: Oh I am!

 

      (1956) King: It’s just...

 

      (1956) King: Well, a lot has happened, so I decided it would be safer to wait a little while and see how things go before I join

 

      (1956) King: I’ll probably come later! I’m just not ready yet

 

      (1956) King: Plus… my sister got in contact with me a few weeks ago, she’s at a refugee camp but I don’t know where

 

      (1956) King: I’d like to devote some time to finding her

 

      (1956) King: Again, so much has been going on

 

      (1956) Izzy: i’m just gonna go wherever zach goes to be honest

 

      (1956) Pameme: so maybe you guys will come by a few days after the meetup?

 

      (1956) Izzy: i’d be ok with that

 

      (1956) King: I would love to finally see you, Pam

 

      (1956) King: And you too Gigi!

 

      (1956) King: And Jae

 

      (1956) King: Olivia <:

 

      (1957) Olivia: <:

 

      (1957) Izzy: >implying

 

      (1957) Olivia: Pfft

 

      (1957) King: We’ll have to see how it works out but I like that idea

 

      (1957) GG: All this has been duly noted.

 

      (1957) Izzy: so... we good?

 

      (1957) GG: Of course!

 

      (1957) Izzy: k, i’ll talk to you guys later

 

ISABELLE SEAGRAVE (Izzy) left thread at 1958.

 

      (1958) Jae: anyway, anyone have anything interesting to talk about??

 

ALEXANDRIA ORBAN (AJ) joined thread at 1958.

 

      (1958) Olivia: Not particularly

 

      (1958) Olivia: Hey AJ

 

      (1958) AJ: hey, I’m just gonna be in and out

 

      (1958) AJ: I’m here for me and Jacob, the two of us decided not to come

 

      (1958) AJ: I’m really exhausted and he’s still upset about… you know

 

      (1959) AJ: so I think we really just want to lay low for a while

 

      (1959) GG: That’s perfectly fine, AJ. Thank you for reporting in.

 

      (1959) AJ: yeah no prob

 

      (2000) AJ: ...

 

      (2000) AJ: hey so

 

      (2000) AJ: I don’t want to be weird or anything but

 

      (2000) AJ: do you guys remember when Aaron pretended to be in love with a hubcap so that the soldiers would think he was insane and wouldn’t kill him?

 

      (2000) AJ: I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately

 

      (2000) Pameme: i remember that

 

      (2000) Pameme: that was a really funny day, when he posted about that

 

      (2000) Pameme: ive been thinking about things like that too <3

 

      (2001) Jae: her name was tyra lol

 

      (2001) AJ: the hubcap?

 

      (2001) Jae: yep

 

      (2001) AJ: omg

 

      (2006) AJ: okay I’m gonna go guys, talk to you later

 

      (2006) Gigi: <3

 

BUCKMINSTER WILD (Buck) joined thread at 2006.

 

      (2006) AJ: <3

 

ALEXANDRIA ORBAN (AJ) left thread at 2006.

 

      (2007) Buck: Hey, I just finished talking with Mads

 

      (2007) Buck: They’re gonna stay behind, but Calise and I are coming to the campsite

 

HALEY HIGGINS (I WANT ALL OF DGD TO STEP ON ME) joined thread at 2007.

 

      (2007) GG: Sounds good. Thank you for filling us in.

 

      (2007) Buck: Yeah

 

BUCKMINSTER WILD (Buck) left thread at 2007.

 

      (2007) Pameme: haley did you forget to change your name after our last convo

 

      (2008) I WANT ALL OF DGD TO STEP ON ME: FUCK

 

HALEY HIGGINS (I WANT ALL OF DGD TO STEP ON ME) changed name to HALEY HIGGINS (Haley) at 2008.

 

      (2008) King: HOLY SHIT

 

      (2008) Haley: SHUT UP THIS NEVER HAPPENED

 

      (2008) GG: Hooo boy

 

      (2008) GG: Did you have something to report Haley?

 

      (2008) Haley: YES

 

      (2009) Haley: i mean

 

      (2009) Haley: yes

 

      (2009) Haley: i was just talking with dani and we’re going to come to the campsite, if that’s okay

 

      (2009) Haley: i mean pam and olivia and a bunch of people will be there so there’s no reason not to, i guess

 

      (2010) Olivia: <:

 

      (2010) Pameme: :)

 

      (2010) Gigi: That sounds perfectly fine to me, Haley!

 

      (2010) Pameme: hey haley

 

      (2010) Haley: yes pam

 

      (2010) Pameme: were gonna be

 

      (2010) Pameme: in person :)

 

      (2010) Haley: yes!

 

      (2011) Pameme: in person memes

 

      (2011) Haley: y-yes, pam

 

      (2011) GG: Adorable.

 

      (2011) Olivia: I agree

 

      (2011) King: Yeah, same

 

      (2011) Haley: I AM NOT ADORABLE

 

      (2011) Jae: good god you people

 

      (2011) Jae: im gonna go, if everything’s good

 

      (2012) GG: Indeed it is! I have a report from everyone now, so there’s no real need to keep chatting in here, I suppose.

 

      (2012) King: I better go check on the other threads then

 

      (2012) King: Talk to you guys later!

 

ZACHARY JONES (King) left thread at 2013.

 

      (2013) Jae: me too

 

      (2013) Jae: see you guys

 

JAE BROWN (Jae) left thread at 2013.

 

      (2013) Haley: pam is spamming our private chat with the word meme now, so i should probably go too

 

      (2013) Olivia: See you later, Haley

 

      (2013) Haley: yes!

 

      (2013) Haley: B)

 

      (2013) Olivia: <:

 

HALEY HIGGINS (Haley) left thread at 2013.

 

PAMELA CAMPBELL (Pam) left thread at 2014.

 

      (2015) GG: Just us left, then.

 

      (2015) Olivia: Seems so

 

      (2015) GG: Are you doing alright?

 

      (2015) Olivia: Not really

 

      (2015) Olivia: I’m managing, but

 

      (2015) Olivia: I’m just really tired, I guess.

 

      (2015) GG: I can hardly blame you.

 

      (2015) GG: Do you want to talk about what happened?

 

      (2015) Olivia: Yes, but not here

 

      (2015) Olivia: Can I message you in private?

 

      (2015) GG: Of course!

 

      (2015) Olivia: Okay

 

      (2015) Olivia: Thanks

 

GIGI NOBBS (GG) and OLIVIA FISHWICK (Olivia) left thread at 2016.

 

CALISE JIN (Calise) joined thread at 2019.

 

      (2019) Calise: hi gigi! i’m going to the campsite!

 

      (2019) Calise: oh wait

 

      (2019) Calise: no one’s here

 

      (2019) Calise: i’m late again, aren’t i?

 

      (2019) Calise: damnit

 

CALISE JIN (Calise) left thread at 2019.

 

\--NOV 14, 2018--

 

\--NOV 15, 2018--

 

\--NOV 16, 2018--

 

\--NOV 17, 2018--

 

\--NOV 18, 2018--

 

\--NOV 19, 2018--

 

\--NOV 20, 2018--

 

\--NOV 21, 2018--

 

\--NOV 22, 2018--

 

\--NOV 23, 2018--

 

CAEHL PONYTORE (Caehl) joined thread at 2216.

 

      (2216) Caehl: Gam are you there??? I clicked on the first thread I could find, there isn’t any time

 

      (2216) Caehl: We were wrong

 

      (2216) Caehl: Flynt IS Tristan, but we never should have trusted him

 

      (2216) Caehl: He’s working for Junko now, they have some sort of partnership I guess... I don’t know but he started drugging everyone here, just grabbing them and tackling them and knocking them out

 

      (2217) Caehl: It was all fine for a bit but then he just... he just turned on us, I...

 

      (2217) Caehl: I’m hiding but I can hear footsteps, he’s coming

 

      (2217) Caehl: Please, please save us Gam, I

 

      (2217) Caehl: I’m sorry. I failed.

 

CAEHL PONYTORE (Caehl) left thread at 2217.

 

\--NOV 24, 2018--

 

GAM PONYTORE (Gam) joined thread at 0109.

 

      (0109) Gam: shit shit shit shit i should have known to check here first

 

      (0109) Gam: i don’t know what the fuck happened to you and i know you probably cant read this but im going to save you caehl

 

      (0109) Gam: ill tell the others, we will get you guys out of there

 

      (0109) Gam: it’s going to be okay, i promise

 

      (0110) Gam: i love you

 

GAM PONYTORE (Gam) left thread at 0110.

 

You joined thread at 0213.

 

Your name is set as (Flynt).

 

      (0213) Flynt: this is beginning to get a little stupid

 

      (0213) Flynt: i know you’re sitting somewhere in the dark holding your phone and praying that someone’s going to come save you

 

      (0213) Flynt: they won’t get here in time

 

      (0213) Flynt: and even if they do, they won’t be able to get inside

 

      (0213) Flynt: junko thought ahead for all of this

 

      (0213) Flynt: you’re the last one left, olivia, so just give it up

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Olivia) joined thread at (0213).

 

      (0214) Olivia: Gigi said this thread was hidden from you

 

      (0214) Flynt: you can’t hide a thread from a person who made the program in the first place

 

      (0214) Flynt: yeah, by the way, DUH, I MADE THE MESSAGE BOARDS

 

      (0214) Flynt: none of you even tried to solve that one, you just took the boards as though they were some magic gift

 

      (0223) Flynt: this isn’t going anywhere, just come out already

 

      (0224) Flynt: junko was gonna shut off the campsite wi-fi after i got you but she can do it now if that will speed things up

 

      (0226) Flynt: it’s so stupid that YOU’RE the only one left

 

      (0226) Flynt: you can’t even die, what are you afraid of

 

      (0226) Flynt: YOU weren’t even the one to tell me that, i had to find it out from junko

 

      (0226) Flynt: i’ve been reading the logs on here, and you really didn’t tell many people at all, did you

 

      (0226) Flynt: just a handful

 

      (0227) Flynt: gam, calise, jae and enoch, haley, gigi, zach

 

      (0227) Flynt: everyone else thought you were a real person

 

      (0227) Flynt: even max only had vague details that he put together on his own, you never told him the full truth

 

      (0227) Flynt: you really liked to pick favorites, huh?

 

      (0228) Flynt: couldn’t just tell everyone, had to turn it into a competition

 

      (0228) Flynt: if you’d told everyone you could have avoided all that shit with momo

 

      (0228) Flynt: you know that, right?

 

      (0228) Flynt: all of this is your fault

 

      (0228) Olivia: Psychological warfare really isn’t going to get you anywhere here

 

      (0229) Olivia: You aren’t saying anything that I haven’t already thought of myself

 

      (0229) Flynt: it doesn’t matter, there’s nowhere for you to go

 

      (0229) Flynt: i’ll find you eventually

 

      (0230) Olivia: Yeah, I know

 

      (0230) Olivia: I guess I’ll just have to find you first

 

OLIVIA FISHWICK (Olivia) left thread at 0230.

 

You left thread at 0230.

 

You joined thread at 0258.

 

Your name is set as (Flynt).

 

      (0258) Flynt: you thought you could talk me out of it? seriously?

 

      (0258) Flynt: there was never any way out of this

 

      (0258) Flynt: it was fated to happen the moment any of us met you

 

      (0258) Flynt: whatever

 

      (0259) Flynt: see you when i wake up

 

      (0259) Flynt: though it’s not like we’ll even remember

 

You left thread at 0259.

 

You closed thread CAMPSITE DISCUSSION at 0300.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The HTML on this website is trying to kill me. 
> 
> DGD stands for Dance Gavin Dance, Haley's favorite band. 
> 
> There's lotsa codenames in here! Fun shit. 
> 
> The source of this title shouldn't be too hard to find. The source is rather infamous, after all. 
> 
> BONUS KILLS  
> THIS UPDATE: -1 (Zach's sister)  
> TOTAL: 9


	34. 6.1 "We're Not Dead"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a moment, hit the switch--  
> then a moment in the dark--  
> then a moment so pervasive, it was breaking us apart.

CHAPTER SIX: What a Horrible Night to Have a Curse

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<OLIVIA>

}

            “Alright, here we go.”

            Gam turned on her heel to lean against the wall, the soft wood creaking behind her, sending light ripples of motion through the slotted panels of the floor. We were upstairs in her cabin; her hideout deep in the cliffs overlooking the campsite. I was still a little disappointed by the fact that I’d never found this place earlier—I’d always had the feeling that some of the equipment at the mansion was lacking, and it hardly made sense for Junko to have created the entire prison with just a handful of machines. I really should have figured this out earlier. In some ways, though, I suppose it was a relief to discover that someone else was here to help. It made my job a lot easier.

            “So this is your big surprise, huh?” I said, nodding to the door in front of me. The door on the opposite wall led downstairs to the cabin’s living room, a place that I was happy to avoid for the time being. Bright white visions of Caehl occasionally seared my thoughts.

            Gam nodded, arms crossed. “Go on through.”

            “Really, I can just go in? I’d think it would be more involved than that, what with all the fuss leading up to this.”

            She shrugged in a missive way, clearly trying to hide her excitement at whatever was behind the door. The area we were currently in was nothing more than a little throughway between rooms: my options were the door Gam stood in front of, and another door off to the right. I’d been in the one on the right already—it was the room from which Gam was running the prison. A bathroom linked that one with the other in front of me now; but when I came here to unlock the elevator, I was careful not to peek. For Gam’s sake.

            She was tapping her foot against the wall now. I sighed, narrowed my eyes at her, and then went through the door.

            Dexter and Sou were sitting at a table in the middle of the room, drinking from coffee cups.

            At first I reared a little, gripping the doorknob. With so many of my memories gone, as far as I was aware I’d never seen these two in person before—and having watched every simulation in the prison at least once, I’d gotten comfortable with my lack of direct interaction regarding members of Super High School Level Despair. Now, they were looking right at me.

            My alarm receded when I noticed a number of other details. The scars that dappled Dexter’s face looked faded. Sou was wearing a long, flower-spotted sundress instead of the rigid jumpsuit that I was used to. His broadsword and her guns were lying harmlessly on a counter across from me. A few green pods lined the back wall of the room, just like the ones I had seen in pictures while reading _Dangan Ronpa_ —“just like them” because they were, in fact, the exact same thing. The ones I was using to run the prison were similar, but certainly modified in some way. These pods were perfect replicas.

            Lowering my shoulders, I looked back at Gam in stunned amazement. She was grinning, peering around the corner of the door. Sou stood up abruptly, smoothing the pleats in her skirt. She didn’t immediately say anything. Dexter leaned back in his chair, hands pressed against the lip of the table, his dull eyes sparkling.

            I couldn’t think of anything to overcome my stunned silence. Finally Sou popped out one leg and waved her hands. “Surprise,” she said flatly. “We’re not dead.”

            I laughed, and then I thought I was going to cry so I hugged her to hide it.

            “But I…” I said as I pulled away, fully recovered. I looked back at Gam, then to the two of them again. “I don’t understand. Are you still…?”

            “Sou?” she asked, expression clearing. “No. I mean, yes, Sou was always one of _my_ names—but the ‘Sou’ who’s been terrorizing everyone is gone now. I’m Jillian.” Jillian began to wave, then dropped her hand halfway through the action. “I mean—obviously.”

            “And Dexter?”

            “Almost died,” she said perfunctorily. “I saved him, though. Oh, you mean his head? Yeah, he’s fine, we’re not Super High School Level Despair anymore.”

            I looked over at him in surprise, seeking explanation. By now he’d stood, looking more than a little awkward. One hand still held the table, as though it were guiding him, and as a result he leaned slightly to the side. “Uh… hi,” he said. He laughed a little nervously, then swallowed and turned serious again. “Yeah, I… Without Junko around, I sort of… went into a coma?”

            “No insulin,” Jillian added, nodding sagely.

            Gam had stepped into the room behind me. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you earlier,” she said. “Because I wasn’t sure if Dexter was gonna make it. Jillian was a real champ about all this shit—she fuckin’ went way off the grid on her own for a few weeks and hunted down some of Junko’s insulin supply.”

            “It’s whatever,” she said, shrugging dimpled shoulders. “I would have been bored out of my mind, all cooped up in here.”

            “A coma, though,” I said, shaking my head, eyes on Dexter. “How long?”

            He considered it for a moment. “Hmm… about three or four weeks, I think. We were in the New World Program for about a week, and then I didn’t wake up from that, so…”

            “Hang on, hang on,” I said. “New World Program? Gam, what the hell have you been doing over here?”

            Gam sighed. “It’s the same one from the games—you remember that, right?” I nodded. “Well, Junko brought some of that technology with her, I guess. Or built it in this world, I don’t know. It’s what the prison is based off of. I mean _hell_ , this shit is basically the plot of SDR2 except instead of a greasy-haired intellectual supremacist we have to deal with Glitchy Fuck McFeiteldick. Anyway, all the sci-fi tech shit was already here, so I just popped these two into the New World Program and had it run the way it was _supposed_ to. Cured them of despair.”

            “Okay, but… how did you capture them?”

            Jillian made a face, glancing to the side. “Junko had Dexter and I—well, Dexter and _Sou—_ guarding the perimeter of the campsite. When all the others came to try and break you guys out, we were supposed to round all of them up and put them in the prison. Which we did.”

            “But I’d been watching all this shit from my cabin,” Gam said. “I saw them doing god-knows-what to everybody, so first chance I got I snuck up and knocked ‘em out. Then they spent a week or so in the New World Program while I tried to figure out how the fuck my friends got sent into another dimension… then Dexter dropped into a coma and Jillian was crawling all over the walls, so she left for like a month on her goddamn insulin expedition… then I figured out the prison so I fired up _that_ shit… then Jillian came back and we only barely managed to save Dexter’s ass, and… yeah, I think that brings us up to now.”

            I nodded, impressed. I didn’t know much about diseases and blood disorders (in fact I knew effectively nothing, save for what I’d heard in the simulations), but I could tell by how Dexter was acting that it had been a pretty serious situation. “Are you okay?” I asked him.

            He shrugged stiffly. “I think so. Good enough, at least.”

            We stared at each other for a moment in mute silence. He shifted, pulling at his jacket lapel. It looked like his expressions weren’t as strained as they’d been in the simulation; his scars had faded enough that he didn’t seem to be restricting his facial movements. “Um…” he said after a minute. “I don’t want to rush things here, seriously, because I’m really happy to see you again, but—but Bree… Gam told me you’re the one who took her out of the prison, so is she… How is she?”

            “She’s good,” I said. “She misses you.”

            “She doesn’t know,” he said, and smiled cautiously. “So maybe I could surprise her?”

            I laughed a little. “Sure, but we should be careful about this. You might give her a heart attack.”

            He smirked. Gam cut in before he could say anything. “I’ll be in the other room, guys,” she said. “You three have fun catching up.” She nodded at us in what struck me as an overly formal way, and then made her exit.

            I felt like pointing out that we couldn’t really “catch up” because I didn’t remember either of them, but before I could decide whether that was a good idea or not, Jillian had stepped over to Dexter and nudged him in the arm. “Hey, I could go get Bree and the others right now if you’d like.”

            “Oh—I don’t know if Gam would be okay with that,” he said.

            “Sure she would. The only reason she was being all secretive about this was because _you_ were gonna die. You’re fine now, so it’s about time we tell the others.”

            Dexter rubbed at his neck, frowning a little. “Still, bringing everyone over here at once? That sounds like a lot.”

            “And I’m not sure how Bree would feel about that,” I interjected. “There’s a good chance that she’s going to be very emotional about all this, so I doubt she’ll want a crowd.”

            Jillian sighed. “Okay, fair enough. I’ll just go get _her_ , then.”

            “Well—hang on!” Dexter said, putting his hands up. “I know I said I was okay, but I’ve been in a coma for a while here. You know, a _coma_? I mean—I’m pretty tired, and I’m sure I don’t look very good, so now might not be a good time to just jump into this… We don’t even know how she’s feeling right now! If she’s in a bad mood, it might ruin her reaction or something, so… so maybe we should just take it slow.”

            “This is adorable,” Jillian said.

            He sighed and rubbed at his face, the grooves of his scars stretching as his lips pulled back in a grimace.

            “It’s okay, Dexter,” I said. “I’m sure she’d be _more_ upset finding out that we kept you from her longer than we had to.”

            “I guess that’s a pretty good point,” he conceded, gaze drifting.

            Jillian was headed for the door. “I’m gonna go get her.”

            I frowned. “Jillian, hang on. They might think you’re… you know, they might think you’re still Sou. Maybe I should come with? Just to be safe.”

            “Yeah, see, okay, sentiment noted but the thing about that is that I’m going anyway and you’ll only slow me down okay bye.” The door thunked shut behind her.

            Dexter and I were the only ones left in the room. I sighed and he did too, though I had the impression that our sighs were for two completely different reasons. As though bent on proving me right, he then said, “Olivia, you’ve gotta help me here. How tired do I look? I’ve gotta look like shit, right? I’ve been taking it easy but I don’t want her to think I’m in pain or something. She _needs_ to believe I’m okay. Maybe we shouldn’t tell her about the coma thing? I don’t mean for forever, let’s just… wait a little, you know? We can tell her later. It’s fine.”

            “Dexter,” I said. “Calm down.”

            “I’m calm,” he said. His arm swung up to rub at his neck again, and despite myself I imagined an electricity-filled blade crashing down. I was by no means afraid of him, but even through my self-assurance the ghost of the past continued to loom. His very presence, in fact, felt incredibly surreal. I found that I was checking myself mentally. “I’m just—I’m worried about _her,_ you know?”

            I nodded. “I know.”

            He seemed to have made up his mind about something. Without another word, he walked over to the bathroom door and pulled it open. He stood in front of the sink, leaning forward to inspect his own reflection. The door to Gam’s room was closed. As I watched, Dexter turned on the water and dropped a towel into it, expression twisted in focus.

            I walked over and leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching him as he worked. He had stopped talking, but he didn’t seem to mind my company. Maybe I was projecting my own comfort onto him, though? Despite all the chaos that had taken place over the past few days, despite the ghost of sinister implication that followed Dexter and Jillian in an unwelcome fervor, despite all the unpleasant things crowding in my mind—despite all of it, I felt strangely comfortable here. Nothing about this situation felt wrong to me. The appearance of Dexter and Jillian was the solution to a puzzle that I thought I would never see completed; it felt as though everything was falling into place. I was so tired of working, and soon all that work would be over.

            Still, my curiosity wasn’t yet quelled. I asked him, “What do you remember?”

            He blinked at me through the mirror. “Of being Super High School Level Despair? Not much, to be honest. The New World Program sort of… softened the memories, I guess. It all feels a little fuzzy.” He paused, cloth half-raised to his face. “I remember the night Jack died. I remember wanting to run at Momo and cut _them_ in half, but I couldn’t because they would shoot Bree before I could get there. But I also remember… I also remember wanting to kill Bree. Just to see what it would feel like. That was the… the drug, doing that.”

            “But you didn’t,” I reminded him.

            “Yeah. I didn’t.” He lowered his hand, turning to look at me properly. “Do you think I did the right thing?”

            I shook my head. “I couldn’t answer that question.”

            “But… Jack…”

            I frowned, grimacing a little. “Sometimes there _is_ no right answer. You just have to pick what feels right at the time. What makes the most sense. I’ve never been in your head, so I can’t claim to know what you were thinking. But I think you did what felt right to you.”

            “Yeah, I know,” he said, turning back to the mirror. “It’s just strange, I guess. Jillian told me she lost _all_ her memories. Of being Sou, I mean. She says she remembers fighting the drugs a little, but after that it’s all just black. Like Sou took over.”

            “You can hardly blame her,” I murmured.

            “No kidding,” he said with a little half-laugh.

            After a little while, I straightened up and slipped past him towards Gam’s room. I wasn’t sure where she’d gone off to, but I hadn’t thought she’d be more than a few minutes. It seemed likely that she was just checking up on the prison, and with only a few people left in there it’s not like such a task would take very long. I pulled open the door and stepped through, closing it behind me with a nod at Dexter.

            I must have entered very quietly—otherwise I’m sure Gam would have fled. Maybe she was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear; or perhaps she _did_ notice, but was too defeated to fight my appearance. Regardless, when I turned around to face the room I saw Gam knelt over her desk, head against her knees, clutching at her hair as though her skull was going to split in half.

            The simulation was visible on the monitor in front of her, but I doubt that she’d actually been checking it. Bloodthirster lay across the desk next to her, and with the way she was knelt I would almost think she was praying if not for how she gripped the sides of her head. She was crying very softly, very quietly, as though she didn’t even want _herself_ to hear.

            Apparently unnoticed as I was, I found myself too stunned to even move: I stood there, slowly overcome with a sense of grave guilt, as though I had just crossed over an invisible threshold that was never meant to be trodden on. I considered slipping out the door and pretending I’d never seen—but the dishonesty of it was enough to near kill me. I had long since tired of all the lying and secrecy. So instead I treaded carefully forward, pausing a number of feet away from her to murmur her name.

            She started, jumping hard, and Bloodthirster clattered on the desk when her hand hit it. She jolted up in a jittery manner and stepped away with her back to me, running her hand brusquely over her face. “Hi,” she said sorely. “I’m fine. Did you need something?”

            “Gam…” I said.

            “It’s _fine_ ,” she said, much sharper. “Why are you here?”

            “I wanted to check on you.”

            She was quiet for a long moment, not moving, still facing away from me. I saw her paw at her face again before turning. Her eyes were red, but not horrendously so, and save for this her complexion was clear. Her expression was a hard mask, gaze digging into mine. “I’m fine,” she said. “So check-up completed. You can go now.”

            I didn’t move. “It’s Caehl, isn’t it?”

            She grit her teeth. “I said I’m fine. I was just—thinking. It’s over now, okay?”

            Somehow, I couldn’t make myself leave. “I apologize for walking in on you. I didn’t know…”

            “It’s… not like I can blame you. There was nothing stopping you from coming in here.” Gam spent a moment glowering at me in a quiet, careful way. In the end, her eyes broke to the right. “Yes, it was Caehl. I was just… thinking about everything that happened, is all.”

            “I’m sorry we couldn’t save her.”

            “It’s not your fault,” she said, shrugging roughly.

            “Well, I…” My throat closed a little, and I swallowed. “Are you sure about that?”

            “What? Of course, I mean—huh— _you_ weren’t the one pulling the trigger.”

            “So you think it’s your fault?”

            The look she gave me was at once furious and disbelieving. “O-Of course? I _killed_ her, Olivia. Christ, do we really have to talk about this right now?”

            “Gam,” I said. I put a hand out and then lowered it. “You can’t blame yourself for her death. The mastermind made that happen, not you.”

            She sneered. “Just because he manipulated me doesn’t mean it’s all his fault. I’m still the one who pulled that trigger. _I_ made the decision to do that. It doesn’t matter that he influenced it.” Her eyes darted away again. “And anyway, some of that shit he said… I’m just saying, maybe he was onto something, you know? He’s right that I didn’t have to suffer like the rest of you did. So… I don’t know, I’m just thinking.”

            I hesitated briefly. “Gam… Okay, sure, everything he said was _factually_ true. But that doesn’t mean you should buy his whole ‘cause-and-effect’ argument. All those things _did_ happen. But you didn’t _know_ they were going to happen. You weren’t purposefully trying to get people hurt. You were only doing what you thought was right. No one can blame you for that.”

            “Sure, whatever,” she said, waving her hand at me, shying away, a little closer to her chair. “I’m still the one who put her in that stupid fuckin’ disguise, though. She thought she was _me_ for all that time… I bet she did a better job of it, too. Who the hell is Gam Ponytore, anyway? I sure as fuck wouldn’t know.”

            “Gam, that’s…”

            “But I still killed Caehl. And he’s right that… you know, that I put her in all those situations that eventually led to her dying. That’s my responsibility. I’m the reason Caehl’s dead.”

            “No you’re not,” I said. “I am.”

            “Nice one. Very funny.”

            “No, seriously,” I said. “You can ask Tristan about this, because we’ve talked about it before. At the campsite, when everything started going wrong… If I’d gotten out of the catacombs and revealed myself earlier, all of that death could have been avoided. I probably could have saved _everyone_ , not just Caehl. But I didn’t, because I was uncertain and scared. And _that’s_ why Caehl died. Even if we say that you really made all those mistakes the mastermind was talking about, those things aren’t the reason that Caehl died. I am.”

            She stared at me, expressionless.

            “I wanted to tell you that earlier,” I said. I looked away, eyes drifting around the room. It was covered in all sorts of ornate rugs, just like the ones downstairs. “I’ve been carrying your hat around all this time, wondering what happened to you and thinking—thinking, you know, I can’t really try to be friends with you at this point, seeing as what I did to your sister. I thought I would just explain what happened and give you your space, but the prison complicated all of it.”

            She continued to stare.

            “That’s my excuse, at least,” I said.

            In the bathroom, I heard the water turn off. Footsteps retreated.

            I swallowed. “Because I… I don’t know if you knew, but I spent a lot of time with her while we were trapped in the campsite. She would visit me a lot. At first just for information, but later… I think, later, just because she wanted to. And I thought—well, I thought we were really good friends. But then I found out that she didn’t even know who _she_ was, and… Well, maybe _I_ don’t know who Gam Ponytore is, either. Because for a while I _thought_ I did, but all that was just a lie, just something that Junko made up. And when I met you, I thought maybe it would be like having my friend back. But it wasn’t, it was different. And I just felt guilty all the time. So then I thought that if I managed to saved Caehl, _then_ I would have my friend back—and I got so caught up in that goal of saving her that I forgot all about the mastermind and I didn’t even _realize_ that he could… possess people like that. And I didn’t… don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want to save her for _my_ sake. It was all for her. I thought saving her was what I needed to do to make her happy again—to make everyone happy. But anything I know about ‘Gam Ponytore’ came from a version of her that was never even real to begin with. So that person who I was friends with… that person never existed. And thinking that I could ever get her back was more than enough to ruin my friendship with the _real_ Gam. Whatever or whoever the ‘real Gam’ happens to be. Really, all my attempts were doomed from the start. Working with false information like that… how could they _not_ be?”

            “You’re rambling,” Gam said hoarsely.

            I blinked at her. I looked down.

            She laughed, though it sounded a little forced. “Fuckin’… look at us. If someone could see this right now, they’d call us _both_ idiots. Each desperately trying to convince the other that they’re the bigger scumbag.”

            “True enough,” I said. There was a pause. “I guess my point is… if you want someone to blame, blame me. Not yourself.”

            Her expression was a tired one. “Man, you know… I believe you. Really, I believe all that shit you said. But for some reason it just… it doesn’t upset me as much as you’d think, I guess. It’s not that I don’t mind. It _does_ upset me, on some level but…” She shook her head. “I’m not mad at you.”

            I studied her for a moment. “If you’re not mad at _me,_ then there’s no way you can be mad at yourself.”

            She snorted. “Well, I guess you’ve got me there. Seems I really _don’t_ know myself, then.”

            “That makes two of us,” I said.

            Gam let out a breath from her nose, avoiding my gaze. “Okay, so at this point I figure Gam is just _no one_ ,” she said. “We’ve got _that_ figured out, at least. I guess if Gam’s gonna be _someone_ again, then I’ll have to start from scratch.”

            “What do you mean?”

            She picked up Bloodthirster from the desk and unsheathed it with a wild flourish that made me step back. “I dunno, anything! Change anything, change everything,” she muttered. “Maybe Gam should be a boy now. Maybe Gam should be an animator instead of a comedian. Maybe Gam should have short hair.” Before I could react, she leaned to the side, holding her locks at full length from her body with one hand. Without another word, she tucked Bloodthirster underneath her head and sawed through her hair.

            “Gam…”

            Rivulets of soft brown decorated the ground as she released the scraps. What remained was a short and messy ruffle atop her head. “I never looked much like Caehl, anyway,” she said. “But now no one will make the mistake again.”

            “You didn’t have to do that,” I said.

            She shrugged. “I’ve wanted to for a while, actually. You just gave me a good enough reason.” Deed done, she sheathed Bloodthirster and tossed it unceremoniously to the side. As she ran a hand through her newly-shortened hair, a few more loose pieces fell to the ground. “Seriously, I’m fine now. We should go back with the others.”

            I hesitated, not moving. She walked past me towards the door and I was left standing there, facing away from her, strangely frozen. The whole situation felt rushed to me, yet she seemed completely comfortable with all the proceedings. My throat closed and opened as I swallowed, pulsing.

            “Hey, you comin’?” she called.

            “I just…” I didn’t move. “I’m sorry about… everything I said. That was a lot to take in, and I… I know it’s not fair of me to push all that on you.”

            “Hey, Olivia,” she said. “We’re friends. You know that, right?”

            “We are?”

            “Yeah. _Duh._ And it’s not perfect. None of this is perfect. It’s pretty damn shitty sometimes, actually. But maybe it doesn’t need to be perfect, yeah?”

            “Yeah,” I said.

            “And everything sucks right now. And I’m gonna relapse and I’m gonna hate myself and I’m gonna hate everything else, too. But I know it’s just… par for the course, or whatever. Things will get better, eventually. I’ll learn. We all will.”

            I nodded.

            “So let’s not be sad right now, okay? Let’s just go.”

            “Okay,” I said. I didn’t move.

            There was a pause. I heard footsteps, and then Gam wrapped her arms around my middle. We stood like this for a moment, saying nothing. Then I twisted around and hugged her in return. For a while, silence.

            “I thought _I_ was the one who needed comforting,” she murmured.

            “Me too,” I murmured back.

            “This is pretty gay,” she said.

            “I know,” I said back.

            We turned and walked back through the bathroom. Both doors were closed now, and Dexter had returned to the other bedroom. I nudged the door open carefully, now a little uncertain of what might be on the other side. What I found was a proper gathering: Jillian, Dexter, Laura, Ash, and Bree, all congregated in the room. Laura and Ash stood apart from one another, both near the fringes, observing Bree and Dexter as they hugged each other, laughing, talking rapidly into each other’s shirts. Jillian sat on the table with her arms crossed, expression glowing in supreme satisfaction.

            I leaned against the threshold and watched as well, Gam standing contentedly behind me. It was a little hard to keep up with Bree and Dexter’s rapid voices.

            “And it’s just—after I killed Jack, I—”

            “I know, I know, me too, I didn’t think I would ever see you again—”

            “And Momo just—if it wasn’t for Momo I would have found you—”

            “Don’t worry, it’s okay—! I’m just happy you’re here now—”

            “Can you—? Are you—? I heard about the prison, I’m so sorry that you—”

            “No, don’t say that! I’m okay, I promise.”

            After a long series of similar exclamations, Bree finally released him long enough to notice me. “Olivia!” she yelled, voice practically squeaking. “Olivia, I—I’m—” She hugged him again, laughing, too overcome to speak. Dexter looked at me with a similar gleam in his eye.

            During all this, Laura had orbited over in my direction. She paused nearby me, leaning against the wall. “What are you and Ash doing here?” I asked.

            Laura shrugged. “I wanted to see what was going on, and S—um, Jillian didn’t stop me. I guess Ash is here for a similar reason. I didn’t ask.”

            I nodded slightly in response.

            “Hey…” she said. “I wanted to say. I’ve been thinking about that sword of yours, Doran’s Blade. It really is _just_ like my brother’s. And… well, it was a long time ago, but way before the war started I had a friend who I gifted that sword to. But I never saw her again. She disappeared. And I don’t know why, or how, and I know it probably sounds pretty stupid to say, but…” Her eyes drifted up to mine. “I’m pretty sure that sword really _is_ the same one. And something about that… Well, the idea that it’s somehow come back makes me really happy.”

            My eyes widened. I wasn’t sure why, but I had the strangest feeling that she was right. My arm fell to Doran’s Blade, buckled at my side. “Would you like it back?”

            She put her hands up. “No, no. I gave it away. Having it again doesn’t seem right to me. I think… I think it makes _sense_ for you to have it, for some reason. Sorry, I know that sounds weird. I remember… I have all my memories back, so I remember you. Which I guess is pretty awkward from your perspective, but…” She lowered her hands. “I always thought you were a lot like my friend. So this just seems appropriate to me, I guess.”

            I felt as though she were on the verge of something alien, yet precious. I couldn’t imagine what she might be thinking. “Thank you,” I said.

            Laura nodded at me a little shyly. For the first time in the past six days, I found myself suddenly wishing I had more time. I’d buried such thoughts until now, but in that moment it all struck me with a burst. I suppose I could hardly be surprised; I’d been soft all day, hadn’t I? With Caehl, with Nikita, with Jillian, with Gam; and now here with Laura. I figure I’ve earned it, all things considered. Insides burning warmly, I turned my attention back to Bree and Dexter.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            Ash accompanied me on my way back to the mansion—it seemed as though they had an ulterior motive for coming over in the first place. I got the impression that there was a lot on their mind as we walked; I recalled Laura’s unintentionally dismissive reference to them during our previous conversation and felt a pang. Ash’s curse was a puzzle I couldn’t solve; and thus another reason to wish for more time.

            “Hey,” they said as the mansion came into view. “You’re going to go help Mads hunt the mastermind now, right?”

            “Yes.”

            “Could I… come with?”

            “What do you mean?” I asked. “It’s not like I’m actually going into the simulation. Not yet, at least.”

            “Oh. I mean, yeah, I knew that.” They quickly ran a hand through their hair. “I just want to… help, if I can. Could I watch, at least?”

            I paused near the mansion’s front doors, hands going to my pockets as I turned to study Ash properly. They braved my gaze in a somewhat fidgety silence. I chose my next words carefully. “I’ll likely have to go into the simulation at some point before the night is through,” I said with slow deliberateness. “I would like it if I could have someone watch over the simulation from this side while I’m in there. You could be the person to do that when the time comes. If you’re still interested.”

            They nodded rapidly. “Yes. Absolutely.”

            We proceeded inside. Ash followed me up the turret stairs to the entrance into my workroom. They paused at the door, promising to wait there. I nodded and went in.

            The room was just as I left it. Laughably stereotypical sci-fi meets old, worn antique wood; two different worlds crashing together in one room. The resulting solution was a picture of bright painted color—every color, all swirling together at once. I let out a long breath that I didn’t need, letting the duration of the air serve as the duration of my thoughts. Then I sat down in front of the computer.

             “Alright,” I murmured to myself. “Here we go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Re_dux Anniversary, everyone! I can't think of a more fitting day to begin Chapter 6. 
> 
> Chapter Zero's title was Hedgehog's Dilemma, from Neon Genesis Evangelion. The actual term has other origins, but it's referenced heavily in the show, so go figure. I chose it for Chapter Zero because the message board excerpt we saw was a strong example of the dilemma in question; of characters struggling to connect with other characters. Painful events are vaguely referenced, but never expounded upon--everyone already knows, for one thing, and for another none of them want to get into it again. At least not publicly. Thus, they all suffer from the Hedgehog's Dilemma. 
> 
> This chapter's title is another dual source, and one I'm sure a number of you will be familiar with.


	35. 6.2 "Theory of Omission"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't wanna call you in the nighttime,  
> Don't wanna give you all my pieces,  
> Don't wanna hand you all my trouble,  
> Don't wanna give you all my demons;  
> You'll have to watch me struggle  
> From several rooms away.  
> But tonight,  
> I need you to stay.
> 
> EDIT: Added a paragraph for the bonus kills. I forgot them at first, like a goddamn fool. Forgive me.

Investigation

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<MADS>

}

            Nikita and I were all that remained once Izzy and Zach were gone. Within the next hour, the flames ate up the remaining fuel and faded away, leaving the prison singed and blackened but otherwise the same as it had been before. The mastermind was nowhere to be seen; we considered looking for him, but I thought it better to wait until Olivia and Gam returned. Having their support, I figured, would make this a lot safer—and with an enemy who could possess people, I didn’t want to go into this blind.

            Still, not following him or knowing where he was… it was unnerving. Despite the recent strain between us, I stuck close to Nikita while we waited. The good news was that I didn’t have to wait for long: after a short while, Olivia reported that she thought she’d spotted the mastermind near the surface, and I should head there. Gam wasn’t around yet, as she was still dealing with some visitors to her cabin, but she would be joining us shortly. Satisfied with this, I allowed myself a deep breath in preparation.

            Nikita was frowning vaguely as the speakers cut out. She lowered her gaze to me. “I will patrol the area and guard for you while you work,” she said.

            I blinked in surprise. “Oh. Uh, if you’re sure. I mean—I’m a little surprised to hear that you don’t want to come along.”

            “There is interest in accompanying you, I suppose, but I believe a more pressing concern is ensuring that the mastermind cannot sneak up on you from behind. I can do that.”

            “Good point,” I said. There was a strained pause. “I guess I’ll go, then.”

            “Yes,” she said.

            Another pause. I scratched at the side of my head, trying not to think about how tired I was. “Hey,” I said. “When the mastermind showed up after we left the pool, you kind of… took off. Where did you go?”

            She glanced to the side. “I wanted to check a theory I had regarding the mastermind. I was unable to, due to the cell doors being locked at night.”

            “Oh,” I said, waiting for more. When it didn’t come, I said, “What’s the theory?”

            Her eyes drifted back to mine. “I would not call it important at the moment. Perhaps we can look into it later, when you have gathered more evidence.”

            Something about the way she was talking seemed even more cryptic than usual—but I was hesitant to press, because I was fairly confident that if I did she might start pressing _me_ about things, too. Well, okay, maybe she wouldn’t. I honestly didn’t know. But the threat of it loomed, and I didn’t want to prolong this conversation any further than I already had. “I guess I’ll talk to you later, then,” I said.

            Nikita nodded, and with that I left. The conversation had put me in what was suddenly a twitchy and bad mood—had Olivia heard all of that? She must know that I hadn’t told Nikita about seeing my simulation, so what did she think of all this? I didn’t have the heart to ask. I shook my head, focusing on taking each step forward through the charred prison; I couldn’t worry about my personal problems right now. We needed to find and take care of this mastermind in order to save Aaron and get out of here. There were only about six hours left on the timer. There was no time for anything else.

            I thought this as I walked, but all my thoughts were wiped clean when I saw that Momo’s door was open.

            When I realized what I was looking at I froze in place, several yards ahead of the cells and in front of the cafeteria entrance. I pointed my flashlight at the cell in consternation; indeed, the door was partially cracked open, a line of black visible beyond its boundaries. For a moment I was stricken by this, unable to move. I’d walked past Dexter and Halley’s doors on my way here, and both had been closed—I now rounded the corner of the hall to check the other two. Jake and Jillian were locked shut as well. The only open door was Momo’s.

            I was understandably very confused. These cell doors only opened when a simulation was present. “Olivia?” I called up. No answer. My heart pounded a little faster.

            I made another crescent to the other side of the hall, pacing around this infallible puzzle. I called for Olivia again, but still I received no answer. After a brief moment of hesitation, I stepped closer to the door, watching that thin line of black for any flicker of movement. None came. About three feet away, I wiggled my flashlight, and found that it couldn’t break through the darkness in the room—that was standard for a simulation. But I’d been told that there were no simulations left. So why was this door open?

            “Olivia, are you there?” I called again. “Did you open this?” I waited uncomfortably long for an answer, but just like before none came. I’d been talking to her only a few minutes ago. What was going on?

            Based on this meager collection of evidence, the possible conclusions I could make were pretty limited; but all of them were damning. My mind latched onto the obvious rather quickly: something must have gone wrong. I was just talking to Olivia, so for her to have suddenly ceased communication must mean that something out of the ordinary was happening. Had her computer broken down? Had the mastermind intervened in some way, cutting her off from me? If the latter, then this open door was almost certainly a trap from the mastermind. I stared at it.

            The mastermind knew about the simulations now because of Caehl, and Olivia had told me that there were no simulations left—so the mastermind _must_ have opened this door. There was no other reason for it to be here. For some reason, I’d been cut off from Olivia and had no way of accurately confirming my theories. This was the perfect recipe for a trap; a black hole for me to disappear into. And yet…

            And yet I found myself pulling the door further open, deadly curious as to what was on the other side.

            I tried to rationalize my decision as I stared into the black maw before me. If Olivia really _had_ been cut off from the prison, then heading up to the surface wouldn’t do me any good: she wouldn’t be there to instruct me on what to do next. I would be stuck wandering the surface with no idea of where the mastermind was or when he might attack. To me, that sounded like an even _stupider_ place to be than this door.

            Still, my heart pounded out an irregular and uncertain rhythm. I called into the darkness again, but Olivia wasn’t there to answer.

            Taking a deep breath, I stepped past the threshold into the black.

            The door slammed shut behind me, and I immediately regretted my decision. I could see nothing, and panic rotted out my senses at the idea that the mastermind might leave me trapped in the darkness forever. But whoever was running this show seemed to have more mercy than that, because only a handful of seconds later a simulation flared to life around me.

            I blinked, eyes quickly adjusting. Wherever I stood, it was dusk. The sky above was blotted out with thick gray clouds that hid the sun from view. A warm, tart wind occasionally whipped by me, heading directly past my person and buffeting my clothes. Small, dark green bushes and shrubs rippled in the enigmatic breeze. Several yards ahead of my feet, the overlapping lips of a wide, deep-looking river licked and shivered in the wind. On the other side of its banks, I could see more dry dirt and dark plant growth; the river extended seemingly endlessly towards the horizon on both my left and right. In front of and behind me, sheer cliff walls climbed into the sky, rock patterned brown and black and gray and white and red. I craned my neck to find the rock’s summit, but it was too high up for me to see. I was at the bottom of a canyon. A _very_ deep canyon.

            All this established, I turned in a quick circle to get a better look around. I couldn’t see anything or anyone of note. Just dirt and rock and plants, stretching in either direction. My heart pounded. Was this empty place supposed to be some nonexistent purgatory for me, some hole where the mastermind could hide me while he worked? Swallowing my regrets, I called into the wind, “Hello?”

            No answer. “Olivia? Can you hear me? Or is this the mastermind?” A pause. Nothing. “I don’t know what to call you, but I know you can hear me. This simulation didn’t start itself. Talk to me.”

            I paused for significantly longer this time, hoping against hope. While I waited I walked near the bank, hoping to find some noteworthy change in the landscape. After a minute or two, I tried talking again. “I came in here willingly, okay? I knew it was probably a trap. I don’t want to fight you, I just want to talk. Why won’t you answer me?”

            The only response I got was the wind, whipping. I grit my teeth and pressed on. I was walking aimlessly and I knew it. A handful of seconds later, I became aware of how clammy my hands were. Another ten and I could feel my heartbeat thrumming in my neck, pressing up against my trachea as though trying to get out. By the time a full minute had elapsed, it felt like my entire being was writhing in an attempt to escape the rest of me. The loneliness of this place and the dangling, golden lure of the unknown hung over me, leering, slowly ripping me apart without ever having to touch.

            Coming in here was a bad idea. I knew that was true, and I’d known it from the beginning, but it hadn’t stopped me. I felt like smacking myself, but refrained. I hadn’t moved very fast or very far, but my breathing was hard and quick now. I thought I might be on the verge of tears when through the wind I spotted an outcropping of rock tucked into the edge of the landscape. The small overhang seemed a half-decent protection from the elements—I hardly cared about this, however. I could see figures standing beneath it and immediately bolted over.

            My hopes flew even further as I got closer: I recognized the black trench coat, the dangling necklaces. Olivia was facing towards me, head raised as I approached.

            “Olivia!” I said, resisting the urge to yell it. “Jesus, there you are. I was so fucking freaked out, you have no idea. What the hell is going on here? I thought you told me there weren’t any more simula—”

            “It’s going to rain,” she said absently, then glanced back at her companion. She talked right over me, as though I wasn’t even there.

            “I’m aware,” her companion responded tartly. The person was hidden in the shadow of the overhang, but I couldn’t be bothered to worry about them right now. Why was she ignoring me?

            “Olivia?” I said. When she didn’t immediately respond or move, I stepped to the side, putting myself in her line of vision again. “Olivia,” I repeated, but her name died in my mouth when I looked at her. She was staring straight through me, as if I were invisible.

            She looked past me—through me—to the distant reaches of the canyon, then over at her companion again. She didn’t say anything, lips pressed together.

            I looked over, too. Her companion was kneeling, gripping a phone in both hands, chewing on his bottom lip. It was Aaron. It was Aaron? Yes, it was Aaron. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Was this supposed to be the simulation? Aaron and Olivia? But that must mean that this was a scene which took place in the past, so…

            I shook my head, stepping back. No. This was a trap of the mastermind’s. Whatever was happening here couldn’t be real. It was impossible. Olivia had told me there were no simulations left, so this scene in front of me was nothing more than a fallacy, a farce. It was just some twisted lie; some made-up story with the purpose of confusing and frightening me.

            But I was stuck here, wasn’t I? So I had no choice but to watch. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            _The wind that whipped the landscape was hard and unforgiving, but thankfully warm. Everything was warmer at the bottom of the canyon—this seemed counter-intuitive, seeing as they were more than a mile down from the rim and far from the sun, but the ecology of the area allowed room for such incongruities. Luckily, dusk influenced the temperature and let the heat trapped in the hard, exposed rock ebb and fade. By night, it would be freezing cold—and the rain wouldn’t help. At the rim, it was possible that the coming eddy might morph into a snowstorm, but it was sure to melt before it could reach this far down._

_The war had been hard and merciless on near every location in the world—reservations, national parks, monuments, cities, forests, habitats… all of it suffered. But the Grand Canyon, ironically, had flourished during the past three years of neglect: the flora had grown wild and nearly writhed up the canyon walls, the weather had dipped back to a more natural (though just as dangerous) state, and the banks of the Colorado River had near quadrupled in size after the collapse of the dam several hundred miles away. The water gushed audibly, the bushes hissed and hushed in the wind, and birds occasionally twittered nervously at the coming storm._

_Still, that didn’t mean the canyon hadn’t suffered in some ways. On the way down, Aaron and Olivia had encountered a total of three bodies, all of which she insisted on stopping to inspect for identification. The names rolled around in her skull: Samantha, Courtney, Andrew. Two bodies together, one on its own. Two were covered in lacerations from a source that could only be guessed at; one seemed to have died from a fall. Despite herself, she liked trying to put the sources of these mysteries together—or at the very least, imagine their sources. It’s not like she could find out for real._

_Olivia wasn’t entirely sure if the river swimming lazily in front of them was the Colorado or not; it certainly connected to it at some place, but it was possible that this was just a tributary instead of the main waterway. The layout of this canyon, like so many other things about the real world, was too complex for her to understand it intimately. It really didn’t matter much, but as a writer (a writer written as a writer, thus three times written) she occasionally suffered from the bad habit of getting stuck on small details. Though she could hardly blame herself; small details are never_ really _small, in the big scheme of things. The writing practice for it was called the Iceberg Theory—a writer should know their subjects intimately, but not every detail needs to be revealed in the prose. Only an eighth of an iceberg breaches the surface of the water: the rest hides underneath, unseen and unspoken but nevertheless understood._

_She paused, frowning at her own thoughts. Had she learned that somewhere, or was that something she had already known as part of her character? Perhaps the most surreal part of being a self-aware creature as herself was that she often struggled to identify the sources of her own memories. Was the Iceberg Theory something she had picked up in the real world, or had she been “born” with it, as information given to her by her original creators? Again, it didn’t really matter. But she was thinking. That always happens when there’s time to kill._

_She looked back at Aaron, wiping her frown away. He was knelt beneath the shadow of the cliff face, holding his phone in both hands and glaring at it behind his glasses. His lips were a thin and focused line. “What are you doing, anyway?” she asked._

_“Talking to Jae,” he said. “Don’t you_ dare _give me one of those looks, alright? We don’t know what’s going to happen once we get over there, so I want to make sure I wrap up this conversation before everything goes to shit.”_

_“I wasn’t going to give you a look,” she said, grinning so he wouldn’t get mad. “I’m just a little concerned about the storm.”_

_“It’s only rain.”_

_“I know, but it looks bad. And weather is weird here.” Both were quiet for a moment. She said, “What are you two talking about?”_

_He unlatched one hand from the phone to wave it in the air. “Just some… friend stuff. Nothing important.”_

_“If it wasn’t important,” she said, “we would have left already.”_

_Aaron sighed. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”_

_It wasn’t like him to be so evasive. Well, it wasn’t like him to be so_ doggedly _evasive. Usually she could get him to give in after one or two tries. She was suspicious, but not enough to press; her concerns were more seriously applied to their destination and reason for being here. A few weeks ago, a mysterious message with no traceable source had appeared on the message boards: it suggested that something dangerous was happening near the base of the Grand Canyon, at a ranch called Phantom. If left uninterrupted, the message implied that many people would likely die._

_It was very obviously a trap, but this fact alone wasn’t enough to deter them. Just because it was a trap didn’t mean the claims weren’t fundamentally true; it would be just like Junko to set up a major crisis as nothing more than a lure. It would also be her fashion to preach to the chosen victims about how the only real purpose they served was to be bait for a higher cause; how meaningless they were, how despair-inducing it all was, etcetera. If there was a chance that innocent people would get hurt, then Olivia wouldn’t allow it to go unchecked. It didn’t matter if there was a trap involved._

_Still, both Olivia and Aaron were on their guard. The message had been directed at the two of them, which on its own wouldn’t be particularly strange, but held a note of concern because nearly everyone else on the message boards had also congregated at the canyon by now. They were all on the south rim, with their own various camps established to rest and recover. The rim was exposed and unguarded—a terrible place for a meeting—but at this point there weren’t many options left. Over the course of the three year war, Junko’s army had strategically pushed the surviving resistance back into the state of Arizona. There were few other places on the whole planet that weren’t rotted through with despair._

_This entire southwestern movement struck Olivia as something like a symbolic gesture on Junko’s part; Olivia had originally arrived to the real world in Arizona, so Junko hoped to end the war in the same place it had begun. She imagined there were probably other reasons for this state in particular, but as things were she hadn’t the information to fathom them._

_All that considered, it troubled Olivia that the message had also been directed at Aaron. On the surface, it made sense; during the latter half of the war, Olivia had abandoned her vigilante-, kamikaze-style warfare for a more relaxed format of nomadic subterfuge with Aaron. He had also spent the first portion of the war mostly on his own, and it was clear (by his admittance a few months into their traveling) that all the solitude had nearly eaten him alive. Things went well, and though Olivia’s accomplishments during this time weren’t nearly as dramatic as they had been back when she allowed herself to die every other day, the whole operation was successful enough that the two of them decided to stick together for the rest of the war. In the interim he had developed his relationships with some of the others further—Jae definitely included—and by now seemed well-recovered from his previous isolation._

_So it made sense that the message was directed at Aaron, as well. This didn’t trouble Olivia. The cause for concern was the fact that he didn’t know she wasn’t real._

_It wasn’t that Olivia didn’t want to tell him. Well, yes it was, but that was far too much of a blanket statement to accurately capture the problem at hand. The problem was that she feared she would alienate him. This was among the primary reasons that she had never told Max (one of the others being that he specifically asked her not to); she believed that if he knew the full truth, he would find it far too strange and impossible to comprehend. Surely a killer. Of course, she had inevitably told others, but each individual she had chosen had been picked with care and endless trepidation. (Gigi she’d suspected wouldn’t mind at all, and on such an assumption she was correct—but Gigi had always been endlessly formulaic about their relationships, so this came as little surprise. Zach had seemed fine at first, but the weeks of silence that followed had been anticipated (albeit difficult to endure); the emotional payoff that followed was well-worth the initial cost, however. Jae had been surprisingly understanding, and was the only one successful in talking about the subject without restriction—and did it all the time, as a point of fact. Enoch, on the other hand, avoided the subject at all costs—yet the two had reached some sort of unspoken understanding about it by now. Haley, Calise, Gam… Well, she could go on, but her thoughts were rambling enough as it was.)_

_By now, Olivia knew Aaron quite well, and she suspected that if she told him the truth he would have a profound amount of trouble assimilating it. It would strain their friendship, and he would be left confused. She doubted he would be able to talk about it comfortably; or if he could talk about it comfortably he would likely find her explanations too vague to be of use, thus causing only more problems._

_She was well-aware of how over-analytical she was being. Cripplingly aware of it, in fact. As she often argued with herself, if she really cared about him then telling him should be obligatory. Yet every time she toyed with the idea, something stopped her from fully committing. She was stuck in this back and forth, in limbo._

_This feeling was familiar to her—she had experienced it with every other person that she had inevitably told the truth to. In her mind, she figured this meant that she would eventually be garnering up the courage to tell him, as well; but this canyon venture had injected her with a growing sense of paranoia. If something went wrong… She should tell him now, before it was too late._

_“Okay, I’m ready to go,” he said abruptly, and stood up._

_“Okay,” she said. She couldn’t say anymore. Her tongue melted in her mouth and she was rendered useless, mute._

_Aaron didn’t notice her internal struggle. Pocketing his phone, he proceeded down the canyon bed to the edge of the river. The ground was flatter here, and he walked with relative ease towards the path that would lead to their destination. Phantom Ranch had been in heavy use before the war, so the trails leading to it were still in fairly good condition. After a moment of hesitation, Olivia followed._

_The rain had yet to start, but the sky growled with distant thunder as they walked. The path was uphill and violently vertical, so there was no space for conversation. It took them a good half hour until the ranch came into view, nestled amid a cleft of rock and sheltered by a myriad of thickly-growing bushes and tamarisks. They approached slowly. The light outside was fading but one window of the ranch was lit, suggesting activity from within._

_It was a large and sprawling building, parts of it hidden behind plant growth and rock formations. The light inside was isolated to only one room, however. The front door beckoned. Aaron and Olivia approached slowly, one toting a machete and the other a wakizashi. Just as Aaron was about to reach for the door handle, it swung open of its own accord. Momo was standing in the threshold in all their frightening glory, their eyes dark from a lack of sleep._

_Their expression was one of indifference. “Come on in,” they said, and summarily disappeared inside._

_Aaron and Olivia exchanged a glance. He scanned the horizon for a potential ambush while she inspected the ranch’s interior from her limited vantage point. Upon perceiving no immediate threats, they proceeded in with weapons raised._

_Momo had moved to an armchair in the building’s spacious main entrance, a fireplace crackling several feet in front of them. They sighed audibly as the two entered. “Come on, put down those weapons. There’s no need for all the hostility. I’m not trying to kill you, am I?”_

_“You’re Super High School Level Despair,” Aaron said sharply, voice heated with annoyance._

_They blinked at him, looking disappointed. “I hardly see how that matters at this point. The war has dwindled to what amounts to about a 100-mile radius from this place. My title hardly holds much weight anymore.”_

_“Yeah, sure, the three people in this room represent the entire war,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. Are you the one who put that message on the boards?”_

_They smirked, but only briefly. “Yeah. And as it happens, you’re totally right. The contents of this room_ do _represent the entire war. So thanks for showing up, I guess.”_

_“Let’s hear the story, then,” Olivia muttered. “What’s the so-called threat that we need to eliminate?”_

_Momo’s eyes drifted to the side, their expression steeped in revelry of the moment. “You guys should take a seat, you know?” they said at length. “Relax.”_

_Aaron and Olivia didn’t move—but neither did Momo. “Just tell us what’s going on,” Aaron muttered in annoyance._

_They didn’t answer. Sighing, Aaron sauntered over and sat in one of the chairs, on its lip. The point of his machete dug into the hardwood floor. Olivia followed suit and sat across from him, studying the room as she went. The fireplace was lit, but beyond the obvious nothing seemed dangerous about it. The ranch was entirely normal, entirely commonplace._

_“I’ve laced the cliff side with explosives,” Momo said flatly._

_“What?” Aaron snapped._

_“Yep,” they said. “The whole south rim. In about… oh, forty minutes, the entire thing will come crashing down.”_

_There was a pause as this information set in. “If you collapse the canyon, this building will be crushed in the rubble,” Olivia said._

_“Phantom Ranch is on the north side,” Aaron murmured._

_“Sure,” she said, eyes not straying from Momo. “But the amount of rubble the explosion will cause would bury the north side well beyond this point. You’ll be killed, Momo.”_

_Momo shrugged. “I have my escape routes. But even so, death isn’t all that unappealing at this point. Super High School Level Despair, remember? With the destruction of the canyon, my job will finally be done. I don’t care what happens to me at that point.”_

_“Everyone on the north rim is going to die,” Olivia said, still processing the information herself. “That’s where all our friends are. Momo—I know you did all this to yourself willingly, but you can’t tell me that you don’t give a shit about our friends anymore. I know you do. Some part of you_ must _still care.”_

 _“Of course,” they said, leaning forward in their chair. “I love our friends.” They grinned shakily. “That’s why I was so eager to make these drugs, you see? Because now I’m not afraid of letting them die. I’m_ excited _for it. The despair it will cause… It’s going to be amazing.”_

 _Aaron sighed tetchily. “Okay, great, whatever. Why the fuck are you telling_ us _all of this?”_

_“Because you’re going to stop it,” they responded, but their gaze stayed on Olivia as they did. “Or you’re going to try to, at least.”_

_An uncomfortable, shifting feeling slowly settled its way into Olivia’s anatomy. Her hands firmly gripped her knees, as though holding herself still. Aaron sighed again. “Look, Momo, I get it. You’re the big ol’ bad guy and it’s fun. Can we cut the shit and just get to the point here? Cause none of what you’re saying means anything to me right now.”_

_Now their gaze turned to him, briefly mocking a pout. When it cleared, they were suddenly and ruthlessly business-like. “The primary deposit of charges is hidden in a small alcove carved into the base of the cliff side, almost directly across from us. The explosives are set on a remote timer that I won’t be revealing the location of, so there’s nothing you can do to amend that. But, here’s the catch: the fuse that connects the primary deposit to the rest of the explosives in the cliff side can be severed by the alcove door. It’s this big hulking metal thing, really impressive, there’s no way you’ll miss it. Keep the door closed, and only the primary explosives will go off. It’ll do a little damage to the surrounding area and bury the whole alcove, but the rest of the canyon will be fine.”_

_There was a moment of silence as the two of them studied Momo for a hole in their proposed plan. Their grin returned. “You all are waiting for the catch. Thinking it can’t be that easy, right? If you don’t believe me, just go down there and look. You’re smart, you can figure it out on your own.”_

_“It doesn’t make sense,” Aaron pressed. “Why would you tell us all of this? Why would you set up such an asinine solution?”_

_“Oh, I don’t need to tell you all that. I’m sure Olivia’s gotten an idea of what I’m getting at by now.”_

_She might have; Olivia was unsure. More accurately, she had an idea of Momo’s true intentions but did not want to entertain it. It seemed too insane and calculated to be real. “It doesn’t matter what you have planned, Momo,” she said at length. “My only goal is to make sure you don’t hurt the others.”_

_“If that’s really true,” they said, “then things will go exactly the way I want them to.”_

_“Whatever,” Aaron said, abruptly getting up. “We’re done here.”_

_“Quite,” Momo said. “You’ve only got about 25 minutes left. There’s a timer in the alcove, by the way.”_

_Aaron had turned towards the door. Olivia was quiet for a moment, unmoving. Momo’s gaze swiveled around to meet hers, eyes dark and glittering with something unknown. Their expression, while largely vacant, simultaneously seemed to be challenging Olivia in some way, as though calling her to something that she could not yet comprehend. She got up and quietly followed Aaron._

_They were halfway through the door when Momo called, “Hang on.”_

_“What?” Aaron snarled._

_They stood up and walked in front of the two, standing several feet ahead of the doorway. Their gaze had gone flat, eyes devoid of the humor that had enraptured them before. “Come with me,” they said, eyes on Aaron. “This is a one-time offer. Come with me right now and leave Olivia to take care of this on her own. I promise you she can, she doesn’t need your help. All your other friends won’t get hurt. Come with me and leave the rest of this behind.”_

_There was a pause. “Momo, we used to be pretty good friends,” Aaron said finally. “But look at yourself. This is bullshit. There’s no way in hell I would come with you.”_

_“Yeah, I figured you would say that,” they said. They pulled a gun from their pocket and cocked it at the two in the doorway. “We’re done here. Leave.”_

_“Jesus, we already were,” Aaron muttered, but made his retreat without any other protest. Olivia followed in silence. Once they were a handful of paces from the entrance, the door slammed shut. The light inside disappeared briefly after. Olivia and Aaron exchanged a glance—but there wasn’t any time for discussion. It had taken them half an hour to climb up here, and they had less than that to get back down. They needed to be fast._

_So they ran. Luckily, the steep climb worked in their favor on the reverse; the incline propelled them faster down the narrow rock paths. By the time they were approaching the river, Olivia was fairly certain about 15 minutes had elapsed; but she couldn’t be sure, of course._

_The river was deep, and fording it was no easy task. They had to more swim than cross, and in the time since they had last been here the water flow had sped up significantly. Thankfully, neither were swept up in a deadly undercurrent, and with each other’s monitoring gazes they made it across relatively unscathed._

_It was right around when Olivia stepped onto the opposite bank that it began to rain. Hard. The arrival of the downpour was punctuated with a pillar spark of white-blue cleaving the sky. Shortly thereafter a sudden crack of thunder clawed through the air. Olivia counted less than ten seconds between sight and sound; the storm was nearly on top of them._

_Luckily, they found the alcove quickly—such secrets are always easily exposed when one knows what to look for. The rain was a brutal, pounding drumbeat on dry rock as they dove into the dark half-cave. It forked abruptly to the right and the two were immediately met with a wide steel-enforced door, hanging open. It closed with a hydraulic lock from the inside. Beyond it, a cold steel corridor extended into the earth._

_Their primary concern was the door, of course, but that wasn’t going to stop them from checking inside. At the end of the long corridor was a small, simple room—lined wall-to-wall with packs of explosives. An unassuming analog timer sat on the floor, counting down from eight minutes as they entered._

_Aaron sighed loudly as they took all this in. “Whatever. Let’s just close the door and get the fuck out of here.”_

_He headed back down the hall, brisk and business-like. But Olivia had already figured out what the problem was. Momo’s plan made perfect sense now. She followed him, much slower, suddenly uncertain of herself._

_“Aaron…”_

_He had reached the door. She stood only halfway down the hall, watching him._

_“Yeah?”_

_He grabbed the big hydraulic wheel and pulled the door closed. There was an audible hiss as door met frame; when he pushed it open again, the hiss was heard once more, signaling the return of connection to the invisible fuses that fueled this wicked place. Olivia didn’t say a word. Aaron frowned and hummed lightly. He stepped out, letting the sound of the rain in again, and studied the door from the other side. Through the threshold she saw his expression cross with concern. He had realized what she had already seen._

_“Huh,” he said after a pause. “Did you notice…?”_

_Her expression told the story for her._

_Momo’s plan was alarmingly simple. Olivia and Aaron were completely capable of cutting off the fuses and saving the canyon from destruction; but the door could only be closed from the inside. Someone would have to stay behind in order to lock it in place. And that person would be caught in the explosion that would destroy the alcove._

_What Aaron didn’t know, but Olivia did, was_ why _Momo had set up such an elaborate plan. Now that Olivia could see it unfolding in front of her, it all made perfect sense; Momo wanted to get Olivia killed. Permanently. The rubble that would fall when this steel room was destroyed would crush her—and crush her, and crush her, and crush her, each and every time she was brought back to life. She would be as close to dead as a creature of unreality could be._

_Because of course Olivia would be the one to stay behind. She wasn’t going to let Aaron do that; Aaron was alive, and deserved to stay that way. Like she’d told Momo, she would do anything to protect her friends—and that included her own personal oblivion. And anyway, her total destruction wasn’t entirely ensured; it was possible that, some day, she would manage to crawl free of the rubble. All that was left was to explain the situation to Aaron and be done with this._

_As Olivia considered all of it, she could tell by Aaron’s expression that he was doing the same. He stepped back inside and studied the wheel again; he stepped outside and pushed the door closed, watching as it swung open again of its own accord. He went back in and shut the door, spinning the lock until it was latched shut, staring at it in frustration. He opened it again and paced. He looked up, saw Olivia standing at the hall, and walked over to her._

_“Hey, so…” he began. “Ha, so, I think you should go.”_

_“Aaron, there’s something I need to tell you.”_

_“Look,” he said. He stopped himself, sighing. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. “I don’t want some speech or argument or big drawn-out discussion here. I’m not going to let you die, and that’s the end of it. Let’s just… You know, let’s just say our goodbyes, and I’ll take care of the rest.”_

_“I’m not real.”_

_“I get that you—what?”_

_“I’m not real,” she repeated. The rain bore down mercilessly outside. “I’m a character. I became self-aware and came to the real world. I’m the reason Junko is here. I’ve wanted to tell you this for a while now, but… I was waiting for the right time, I suppose. Momo’s forced my hand, so I guess the right time is now.”_

_There was a moment of silence as he studied her. “So you… You’re what? You’re saying you’re like Junko?”_

_“Yes,” she said. “I can’t die. I think Momo’s goal was to get me buried in the rubble here, and in all honesty it will probably work. But there’s a good chance I can dig myself out. At least eventually. You, on the other hand… You know, you’ll die for good. So let’s just go along with Momo’s plan, and I’ll find a way out of here when I wake up.”_

_“Hang on, hang on,” he shook his head. “Why would Momo want to kill you?”_

_Olivia frowned, looking away. “I can’t say for sure. Maybe they think I’m as dangerous as Junko is. Or maybe Junko manipulated them into believing certain things. Maybe I really_ am _as dangerous as Junko! They offered to take you with them, so I imagine at least one of their goals was to protect you.”_

_“They picked a pretty fucked-up way of doing it,” he snarled._

_She let out a breath. “Yeah. But the bottom line is that this trap was meant for me, and as long as there’s a chance I can get out of it, it just makes sense for me to stay and you to escape.”_

_Aaron was quiet for an uncomfortably long moment. “But you’re not a Dangan Ronpa character,” he said._

_“Scrapped,” she said._

_Again, a pause. “You’re really… You’re serious about this? You really aren’t real?”_

_“Yes. Do you believe me?”_

_“All this time,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “Huh,” he said._

_She was quiet, unsure of what to say. He came up with something before she did. “Alright, then. Let’s do it your way.”_

_“Are you sure?” she said, surprised._

_He nodded, solemn. He walked towards the door, then paused before the threshold and looked her way. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to come back?”_

_“No,” she admitted. “But it’s not like you’d have a better chance.”_

_She walked over to his side, head half-lowered. He said, “True enough, I guess. But if I don’t see you again… Hang on, can we talk about this, for a minute?”_

_“We don’t have a lot of time.”_

_“No, I know, I just…” He suddenly looked away, expression almost guilty. “It’ll be quick. Outside?”_

_Olivia nodded and headed through the threshold. If she’d been thinking clearer, she might have seen what was coming; but her nerves were so shot from the very act of telling him that her whole being had been transformed into a livewire. She didn’t interpret the guilt in his expression the way she should have. She was too off her game, too exposed. The moment she stepped onto the earth outside, the steel door slammed shut behind her._

_There was a hiss as the lock was secured. For a moment she was frozen and unmoving. She was so stunned that she felt empty, as though she was flying out of her body to other places. Then she spun around, tails of her trench coat flying. The unimpressionable metal face of the door glared back at her, inches from her person. There was a small manhole on its surface and through it she saw Aaron’s face, eyes slightly wide, overcome with a sort of half-rapture at the wonder of the crime he had just committed._

_“Sorry,” he said, voice muffled through the metal. Then he laughed a little. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, it’s just—that really surprised you. I’ve never seen you look that stunned before.”_

_“Open the door,” she said._

_He was suddenly serious, suddenly full of compassion. “Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course you’re a real person. If you were some character from a story, I would know about it. You wouldn’t be able to keep that a secret.”_

_“Aaron.” Her fist hit the metal with a dull clunk. “Aaron, I’m telling you the truth.”_

_He shook his head. “I’m really sorry that I have to do this. But I’m not going to let you die. You get that, right?”_

_“Please, Aaron.” Clunk, clunk. “You have no idea what the hell you’re doing right now.”_

_“And even if you aren’t real,” he said, pressing on relentlessly. “Which is still bullshit by the way, you’re definitely real—but even if you weren’t, it wouldn’t matter. Because I don’t want to see you hurt, or blown up, or buried under rubble, or any of that. You don’t deserve that. So I’ll do it myself. It’s okay.” He had delivered all of this very calmly, very factually, but here his façade broke slightly as he took a shaky breath. “I want this. It’s okay.”_

_“Aaron!” He had taken a step back from the door and in response she leaned further into it, as though to push it out of existence._

_Aaron studied her through the manhole for a moment, seemingly comfortable with this distance. His expression shifted in a very careful way, eyes searching, active, taking in all they could find. She grit her teeth and pounded the door again, rapidly, exuding panic from every orifice._

_“You saved me,” he said. “You know that, right? So I’m okay with dying like this.”_

_“Open the door!” she yelled. “I’m not lying to you!”_

_“I love you,” he said, and then turned on his heel to leave. She watched him through the glass in horror; abruptly he paused after a few steps and half-turned to face her again. He waved one hand (which was trembling, only just) and with a hard, nervous laugh added, “See ya later!”_

_Then he turned and walked down the hall and did not look back again._

_She stood there, breathing into the door and immobile. Then she started clawing at it, pulling at the seams, unsheathing Doran’s Blade and trying to jam it through the grooves. Her teeth gnashed together and she seethed as she fought, literally hissing and growling, her sounds as animalistic as her behavior. Her face burned. Unreality, immortality, manipulation, teleportation—all this, but none of it could save her friend. What was the point of existing—what was the point of her fight through universes, through stories, through her own battered mind—what was the point of it all if she couldn’t save but one life? Idiot, idiot, idiot. All this time, everything she’d gone through, and still her own foolish lack of communication was about to kill Aaron. What an incredibly, stupidly, ironically human thing._

_There couldn’t be much more time left before the explosion. A minute, at most. She needed to clear the alcove or else Aaron’s sacrifice would be in vain (even moreso than it already was). But she didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to leave him. What if there was still a chance? Maybe she could… maybe she could…_

_His shadow was vaguely visible, moving in the room at the end of the corridor, but it was too far away for her to pick out any detail. What was he doing in there? Watching the timer count down in mute horror? Fidgeting in an attempt to distract himself? Trying to disarm the explosives? Crying? She began to scream his name, hoping he might hear her and listen. He didn’t come out of the room. She couldn’t see him._

_“I love you,” she snarled at the door._

_Sudden fury overwhelmed her. This trap had been meant to end her life, but because of Momo’s negligence—because of Olivia’s negligence—it was ending Aaron’s life instead. There was no permanent revenge that she could dole out on herself, but there was plenty for Momo. If she was quick enough, perhaps she could catch them and put an end to this horrid web of revenge._

_This argument was the only one capable of spurring her away from the door. She ran out of the alcove and into the rain again, which had not let up since she’d last been out here; if anything, it had gotten worse. Lightning winged out of the sky, followed immediately by the endless guttural howls of thunder. The storm was right on top of her. She looked up and, in horror, saw literal waterfalls torrenting down the canyon walls, pouring over the stone. The river and canyon basin were rapidly flooding. If she stayed here for too long, she would be swept away and drowned, most likely to emerge several hundred miles downstream. But that didn’t matter to her. All that mattered was finding Momo._

_She’d barely ran a hundred yards when the explosion shook the ground behind her. She staggered and then held herself still, half-bent, while the tremors of falling rock subsided. The rain came down in droves. The earth shuddered in agony from its subsisted torment. Aaron could not have survived this fire, this brimstone. He was dead. She straightened up and kept running._

_The rain slicked the rock and dirt; her footing was unstable, slowing her down. She didn’t know where she was going but she was going there anyway, running on instinct. The storm (likely unexpected—how could they have calculated that?) would have been more than enough to drive Momo out of the canyon; they would be fleeing. All she needed was a single sighting, just a flicker of movement, and she would know where to go._

_She could hear the river swelling behind her._

_She ran blindly for what could have been hours, but certainly wasn’t—then a voice called to her from her left, along the canyon wall. “Olivia!”_

_She looked up, half blind from the sheet (more like a thick down blanket) of water. She recognized the blue of the jacket; it was Haley, crouched on a precipice, her bow drawn at her side. Another bolt of lightning tapped the landscape nearby, and everything shivered with noise and sound._

_“Help me!” Olivia yelled._

_“What happened?” she called back. “Where’s Aaron?”_

_“He didn’t… I can’t let them get away! Momo.”_

_Haley leaned forward a little, tensing. “Did they kill him?”_

_Lightning and thunder tore at nature. A rush of sound, violent movement. “I’ll explain later! Are the others alright?”_

_“The enemy ambushed us,” she yelled. “They’re trying to barricade the canyon, I don’t know why—” She was cut off by more thunder._

_Caging them in, Olivia imagined. Trapping the opposition in Arizona so that the war would have no choice but to be fought out to its bitter end. Water had swelled up to Olivia’s knees, and its current was quickly growing more persuasive._

_Haley had noticed. Not bothering to talk over all the violence, she navigated quickly down the rocks and then back up with Olivia in tow. They made quick work, but the water chased. By the time they’d reached Haley’s original post, a great gray wall of flood was rushing down the canyon floor. They clung to the wall as it swept by them, beneath them._

_If Momo was down there…_

_But they weren’t. Olivia looked up and saw them on a distant cliff face. They were screaming. They had seen Olivia—alive, untouched by their planted explosion—and they realized what had happened. They screamed in a rage, in a despair, horrible and unrelenting. Their short hair shivered in the wind. Many of their bandages had come loose, flapping in the rain. They leered along the edge of the rock as though they planned on jumping and winging through the air to descend on Olivia like a bird of prey._

_“You killed him!” they screamed into the tortured air. “You animal, you th-thing--! You killed him!” Haley raised her bow and shot them unceremoniously in the neck._

_The water, the rain, the thunder, the lightning—it was too much to leave space for words. But as Haley notched another arrow and shot, she spoke with each hit on the now-corpse: “Malcolm… Jack… Aaron…” She grit her teeth, then drew one more arrow and fired it. “And that one’s for making Pam cry.”_

_Olivia touched her arm. But she couldn’t feel the contact, as though her nerve endings were numb and dead._

_Haley took this as an offering. She grabbed Olivia, hugged her, then took her hand and began to navigate the way up the writhing canyon walls._

_Two lives lost. The second’s death brought no satisfaction to justify the first; Olivia said nothing, following Haley’s lead. She wished the flash flood would rush up to consume her. She wished the lightning would dart down to strike her. She wished the ground would collapse and destroy her. Leave Haley alone, leave Haley free, dazed and on her own in the midst of nature, empty palm stretched out wide to the rain and air. No Olivia to anchor it down._

_It would be a long way to the rim._

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

            I stumbled away from the rain-swept scene in horror, empty air clawing at my back. I forced myself to calm down, to stand still. None of this could be real. There was no way. Olivia had told me that there were no simulations left, and she wasn’t here to monitor this monstrosity, so it _must_ have been created by the mastermind. I couldn’t believe anything else. I couldn’t handle anything else.

            “Get me the fuck out of here!” I yelled into the sky. “I don’t care about this stupid fucking thing, I know it’s all fake, just _let me out_!”

            The lights promptly turned out, and I was drowned in darkness. I couldn’t stop myself from crying out in shock; I hadn’t expected to get a response of any kind, let alone a step in the direction I wanted. The darkness was total for an uncomfortably long moment, and I feared I might be left like this. Then I saw the slit of light that signaled the door and I ran for my life.

            Once out in the prison again, I gasped for air, buckled over with my hands gripping my knees. That was horrible. It was horrible and a lie. Aaron was alive; I’d been talking to him for the past thirty days before all this hell began. Aaron was alive and had nothing to do with Olivia. Why was the mastermind showing me things that were obviously not true? That simulation was clearly nothing more than a trap meant to confuse me. I _knew_ it couldn’t be real. What could anyone possibly gain from showing me that?

            A voice said, “Has something happened?” I straightened up, turning; Nikita was standing at the corner of the hall, staff at the ready.

            For once, I was relieved to see her. “The mastermind lured me into some… some fake simulation,” I told her, hurrying over. “Olivia was in it, and Aaron died, and…” I shook my head.

            “What makes you so certain that it was not real?” she said, dubious.

            “Because I’ve been talking with Aaron for the past thirty days!” I near yelled. “I showed you in my room, remember?”

            She was quiet for a moment, expression blank. “You showed me your wall, Madison.”

            “Yeah! With the crack in it, the hole Aaron and I were talking through.”

            Again, a moment of silence. She diverted her gaze. “As I told you earlier, there was something I had wanted to investigate, but could not because the cells were locked. Could we perhaps go look at your cell again, Madison?”

            I led her to my room, too confused and agitated to say much of anything at all. What was happening? With my ElectroID, I unlocked the door and stormed inside the small space, Nikita following only to pause at the threshold. I gestured furiously at the wall adjacent to Aaron’s.

            “See? The hole—”

            I looked over. The wall was featureless, free of ruptures. Smooth, flat, clean gray stone. There was no hole in the wall. There was nothing on the wall at all. Its gray surface bore mercilessly into me, glaring daggers of misunderstanding into my skull. There was no hole in the wall. There was nothing there.

            “I don’t… I don’t understand…”

            “There was nothing here when you first showed it to me,” Nikita murmured. “I had assumed that you had told me a blatant lie in hopes I would not investigate. When I did, you made no attempt to defend yourself further, so I did not say anything. I had believed your intention was to discourage our continued relations. As it were…” She averted her gaze again. “Well, I should have pressed. But at the time I did not see a reason in doing so.”

            “But I wasn’t lying!” I cried, voice strained. “There was a hole in the wall, I swear to shit, there was a hole—” I clutched at my head, shaking it. “I was talking to him for _thirty days_! That was real! It happened!”

            “What did you talk about?”

            “We talked about… We…” I stopped, breathing hard. “It was… it was just small talk, you know? Just things about each other. We talked about… um, hang on, I-I-I must have just forgotten, i-it’s… it’s—we talked about…”

            “Small talk,” she repeated, remarkably calm. “Tell me one thing about him.”

            “He told me… He told me…” I shook my head, voice cracking. “I-I-I must have just forgotten, th-that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen—”

            There was a pause. Nikita said, “We know from Zach’s experiences that the mastermind can alter memories. I believe a trap had been laid for you from the very beginning.”

            “This is insane,” I breathed. “This is fucking insane.”

            But if I hadn’t been talking to Aaron before all this began, then it was possible for him to have really died in that simulation. Was he actually a tulpa? Was Olivia his student? But if he was a tulpa, then what was the mastermind supposed to be? A pairing can’t be in threes, it can only be in twos. Something wasn’t adding up.

            Abruptly, the speakers clicked on. Olivia’s voice said, “I’ve tracked down the mastermind inside of the theater. Hurry over here quickly, Mads.”

            “Hang on!” I called up to her. “Something’s not right. Aaron… I don’t think he’s actually alive. And the simulations—Olivia, we need to talk.”

            “We can talk at the theater.” The speakers clicked off.

            I looked at Nikita in helplessness. Her expression was as difficult to decipher as usual, eyes lidded and lips set in a flat, cryptic line. She nodded her head towards the door, and upon my acquiescence we turned and ran for the surface. There was nothing else to do. I couldn’t solve any of these mysteries without more information.

            We ran up to the theater’s front entrance. I darted inside, into the wide lobby, but Nikita stopped at the door. I skidded to a halt several paces from her, looking back in confusion. When she didn’t give chase, I ran back to the door. “What’s going on?”

            “I will be leaving you here,” she said.

            “What? Why?”

            “As I said earlier, I wish to guard you from behind. To avoid any surprises. Also,” she said. “I have some things of my own to take care of.”

            “Like what?”

            She sighed, eyes lowering, and for a brief moment she seemed indescribably tired. Her thin and wired frame looked worn, as though she would collapse at any second. For a brief instant, her expression seemed so clear and telling that I almost thought I might be able to read her thoughts—but it was gone before I could, and she was back to her expressionless self. “I wouldn’t concern yourself with such things, Mads. I imagine there are a great many things you will need to focus on if you wish to save Aaron. Worrying about me will get you nowhere.”

            “Well, I… I mean I wasn’t worried, necessarily, I just wanted to know what you’re going to do.”

            “Nothing of much importance, I assure you.” There was a pause. “I wish you luck.”

            “You too, I guess,” I said. “I mean… I’ll see you later, right?”

            The fact that she didn’t respond immediately told a story of its own. “I do not want you to worry about me,” she stressed again, jaw tightened. “Your focus should be on Aaron.”

            I didn’t know what to say. I wished I did, because I felt like something important was happening. But I didn’t, so all I could manage was, “Okay.”

            Nikita dipped her head in a way that was much more like a bow than a nod. “You have done very well, Mads. I wish the best for you.”

            “Thank you,” I said. “You too.”

            She turned and walked calmly away, staff slung over her shoulder as she crossed the campus. She seemed to be heading in the general direction of the prison, but I wasn’t sure. Swallowing, I made my way into the theater lobby, lost in thought. I was half of the way to the auditorium doors before I realized that she’d called me by my real name—I ran back to the entrance and looked through the glass doors across campus, searching the bleak darkness for her figure. But she was nowhere to be seen.

            For a moment I stood there, silent in the tomb-like lobby, the plush carpet and gilded walls hanging above and beneath me. For a moment I was briefly disconnected from time and purpose, alone in the dark and wondering why I was feeling so strangely melancholic. For a moment I didn’t want to do anything at all. The theater creaked and hummed. The synthetic night chirped and twinkled through the glass. I was a piece of constant solitude amidst its endless movement, a tourist in its wake.

            Then I turned and ran for the auditorium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What really can be said here
> 
> Really
> 
> BONUS KILLS  
> THIS UPDATE: 3  
> FINAL TOTAL: 12


	36. AF Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for givin' up the ghost--  
> Fuck, it's you I hate the most.  
> Baby, there's no guarantee;  
> It doesn't matter.

“Where are we?”

“Everywhere.”

“Okay, but where are we actually?”

The creature grimaced. Of course Aaron knew where they were, he  ~~was just being a dick~~ just couldn’t believe it. He and the Man Downstairs were standing ten paces apart on a floor that was not there, in a place where they did not exist. They were in space, thousands of miles off from the earth’s surface, the planet’s entirety encapsulated by their field of vision.

Conversely, the vision also encapsulated Aaron. He was completely awestruck, surrendered to his sense of wonder. Every NASA photograph had been a grotesque parody of the unspeakable magnificence before him. For a moment he forgot what a prison was. For a moment he forgot his own name.

The glitch across the aisle was unfazed.

“Close your mouth fuckface,” the creature began, “this is important. It’s a simulation, ya dig? Within a simulation. But it’s a lot more elegant than Olivia’s slapstick Narnia horseshit. All of this is happening inside your skull. Nifty huh? Say it. Say it’s fucking nifty.”

Aaron did not respond immediately. “What? Oh, sorry. Was thinkin about other shit.”

_ “I have half a mind to slap your shit, Feitelberg!” _

Aaron’s sudden fit of laughter cut through his speech. “I’m fuckin with you, dude. I heard everything you said.”

The glitch threw a growling tantrum in lieu of a proper response, grabbing his head in his hands and stomping his foot. “We don’t have time for this. Okay, fuck me, we actually have infinite time, so I guess this works like Narnia in  _ some  _ ways.”

“You’re really just nailing it right now.”

_ “Shut the fuck— _ okay. Listen. Do you know what you’re looking at?”

“The Academy award for best visual effects?”

“The earth, you sack of shit. I brought you here because I need you to understand.”

“It’s an impressive display but is it really worth your dick in my ass?”

The mastermind’s right eye flared red. Before Aaron knew what was going on, his imaginary space bubble seemed to dissipate, the cold dark sweeping over his body and locking down his movements.  He had previously been encapsulated by the gorgeous view, but was now distracted by the fact that he was literally encapsulated in solid ice.  To his surprise, however, he felt no pain. In fact, he figured the ice hadn’t even been necessary. It was just proving a point.

“Stop. Fucking. Talking.”

Aaron tried to flip him the bird, but was frozen.

“You think I like being this guy?” The glitch composed himself. “Anyway, like I was saying. Haven’t you wondered why I’m doing all this? Check out the earth for a sec. Fucking look at it!”

Aaron tried to turn his head to look at the earth, but was frozen.

“You think it’s your earth, but it’s not. It’s a better one. These pocket simulations, imagine these as Level 3. The prison, that’s Level 2. The world you call home is Level 1. What we’re looking at here is Level 0.”

Aaron tried to make a confused expression, but was frozen.

“I’m not doing this for myself. I’m not even doing it for you. I’m doing it for them. Level 0. You want to be free of this place, but your earth, Level 1, is just another simulation. We’re in a simulation inside a simulation inside  _ another _ simulation! And there could be more! Negative Levels! This could just be the tip of the iceberg, and it’s  _ ice cold.  _ What do you think o’ that shit?”

Aaron tried to be unfrozen, but instead, was not.

“Oh, right. Speak of the devil.” The glitch’s eye flared up again and the ice slipped away.

“Fuck, dude,” Aaron groaned, stretching. “You really know how to make a minute feel like ten thousand years. I have a such a crick in the neck.”

“I’m so completely dead inside, I don’t even have the rage to call you an assblaster right now.”

“Aw come on, don’t level out on me now. That was a real zinger!” Aaron could tell by MD’s disappointed, almost pouty expression that funsies were over. What was the point of comedy if it wasn’t pissing anyone off? “Okay, fine. That’s some heavy shit you’re dropping, my dude. My ‘real world’ is just a simulation? Fine. Convince me.”

“I’ve been there.”

“Bullshit you’ve been there. You’ve never been outside of your own asshole.”

“Alright, you got me. I’ve never physically ‘been’ there. But I’ve made contact, and I’ve seen this world for what it truly is. Everything you’ve ever known and loved is a lie, a simulation, nothing but a work of fiction constructed by denizens of Level 0.”

“What about the stuff I know and hate? Are there Nazis in Level 0?”

“Tons.”

“Shit.”

“But I’ve been fucking with them. I mean—not the Nazis, I mean. The people behind your simulation.” 

“At the very least, that tells me my world was not created by Nazis.”

“Shut the fuck up for a second. I’ve had a concrete influence on all of the levels I just described. Every single one. I’ve reached from our world into theirs. I’ve broken free from fiction. I know reality because I’ve touched it, and I’ve done it countless times! Nine fucking times!”

“So like, you’ve broken the fourth wall?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m talking about making contact with a world outside our own in a manner that demonstrates breathtaking multiversal awareness. Yeah, maybe leave this shit to the  _ fucking professionals. _ ”

“Man, I feel like a real asshole all of a sudden.”

“You should. I’ve created little glitches in your world and theirs. Let me tell you how it works. I make contact with Level 0, and someone listens. All it takes is one person. I tell them what to think, what to feel, what to write. Level 1 changes. Level 2 changes. For barely a few minutes, everything goes to shit. Nothing makes sense. The world is warped and twisted into unimaginable chaos. And then, just like that, it all goes back to normal. The continuity resumes where it left off, nothing has changed, nothing is different, and no one even remembers what happened.”

“Like an alternate ending?”

“No, you fucking idiot! And stop making up words. These glitches are microcosms of my very being, are your universes are  _ loaded  _ with them. So even though the prison is ending in less than a day and my impending death is upon me, I’m gonna live forever biatch!”

“Wait, I thought you said you were doing all of this for  _ them.” _

“What? Oh. No, I got a little off-topic. Killing all the tulpas! That’s what I’m doing for them. All of the fucking fake people in the prison have to die so that the real people can live and no one has to lose their memories. My motives are completely altruistic on that front, and I’m actually the good guy of this story if you really think about it! But no, the alternate ending shit, that’s all for me baby.” This is the part where MD would’ve adjusted his glasses using his fucked-up arm, but as we all know, MD has perfect 20-20 (and is a perfect 10/10).

“Yeah honestly,” Aaron interjected, “I don’t know why everyone’s trying to stop you from literally fucking saving everyone. If you were the protagonist of Re_dux, I’m sure this would’ve gone a lot quicker.”

“Yeah, I—wait, how do you know about that?”

“Know about what?”

“About… about Re_dux.”

“I… don’t know anything about that. What’s that?”

“You just… you just said it, literally just now.”

“I think I would remember something like that.”

“God, well, whatever, it’s not like you’re going to remember any of this.”

“What? Why not?”

“One guess.”

“… Shit.”

“Yeah baby! Big number ten! It’s the last one too, so I wanted to give you my big supervillain speech, even though, again,  **I am actually the good guy of Re_dux.”** MD stared directly into the camera. “What the fuck is  _ wrong _ with you people? Olivia and Gam and Mads are trying to pull some major voodoo shit, bringing people back from the dead and making everyone lose their memories without giving anyone else a say in the matter! They have  _ no  _ checks on their power whatsoever! And you’re  _ rooting _ for them! God, I bet you voted for Donald Drumpf.”

“Yeah man, same. But why bother with this whole glitched out ending shit anyway? It’s not like this has any real consequential impact on our lives.”

“You won’t remember, but I will, and so will Level 0. They can see everything everyone forgets, even my awesome endings.”

“What, they’re watching us? They can see our conversation right now?”

“Big time. Right now our exchange is being recorded alongside an infinite collection of data being streamed wirelessly across the planet at the speed of light. Billions of people can access this record at any time, provided they know where to look.”

Aaron put a hand to his beard and considered. “We’re being posted on the internet?”

“What the fuck did I tell you about making up words?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't even bother faking the title this time. You all know what this is. 
> 
> This alternate ending--the final alternate ending--was guest-written by our dearest Aaron Feitelberg. A round of applause for his hearty memes.
> 
> I forgot to discuss this chapter's title at the end of the last update, so I'll do that now. As I said, "What a Horrible Night to Have a Curse" has two sources; Castlevania for one, and The Binding of Isaac for the other. Sou guessed the former, so points to her.  
> I chose this title because I think it accurately captures the situation at hand during Chapter 6. Everyone has curses to deal with--Olivia and Nikita have the curse of unreality, Aaron has the curse of the Man Downstairs, Ash has the curse of being forgotten, and Mads has the curse of trying to fix all of this. And, I can assure you, it is absolutely the worst night possible to have to deal with ANY of these.  
> We'll see how they all fare soon enough.


	37. 6.3 "We Are Dead"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xizi, she knows  
> That once it's gone,  
> Then it's gone.

Trial Part 1

            The door cast a long, angular bolt of light across the seats of the auditorium as I opened it. This illuminating sling pitched the plush red seats of the auditorium in the color of fire; the rest of the chairs, surrounding this exception in ranks, were cast in shadow and thus the color of blood. Save for my contribution and an unseen set of backing lights on the distant stage, the whole of the auditorium was dark.

            When the huge door thudded closed behind me, the room became significantly darker. My guiding beacon was the soft light of the stage. I navigated slowly up the rows of seats, trying all the while not to think about how much that closing door sounded like the sealing of a tomb. There was nothing of note on the stage. It was bare of any decoration or congregation, the soft and stark light paling the scene in an all-too frank and un-stage-like way. It felt bare and exposed, devoid of the usual mystery a theater provided.

            I moved even slower up the steps onto the stage, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The door through which I’d entered was invisible from this grand distance. The battalion of bloody seats stared up at me from their silent posts.

            Without considering the danger, I called out, “Olivia?”

            A tall shape immediately leered out from behind one of the curtains in the wings. It was the mastermind. He was several yards behind me onstage, his arm spread out, the glitched appendage that Zach had described seeming to swallow any light that touched it. His expression was at once alarmed, furious, and strangely hopeful.

            “What are you doing here?” he growled at me in that unnatural, pitchy voice. It echoed in the confines of the theater, thus becoming ever more unnatural and pitchy. He took a step forward, still half-hidden behind the curtain; his stance struck me as predatory.

            I brandished my hunting knife, holding it up with both arms raised. “Stay away from me, okay?” I said, surprising myself by how level my voice sounded. “I don’t want to fight you if I don’t have to. I’m just trying to get all this straightened out.”

            “That’s my job,” he said, accusatory.

            “Well sorry, but you’re not very good at it,” I snapped. “Last time I saw you, you were trying to _kill_ all of us.”

            He glanced to the side, dark red eye winking in the dim light. Now that I was getting another look at him, I noticed that the red eye actually seemed to move slightly faster than the normal one, as though its nerve endings were quicker and more responsive. Assuming he actually _had_ nerve endings. “I just got frustrated,” he said. “Maybe I… misjudged you. Maybe. I thought you were in on it.”

            “In on _what_?”

            “The lie,” he growled, as though it should be obvious.

            “What lie?” I said, still keeping my knife up in fear of a trick. “The one about Aaron? But _you_ caused that lie. You changed my memories, right?”

            “No, no.” He made a face, shaking his head, pausing to calm down before speaking again. “Well… yes. Yes, I did that to you. To protect Aaron, so I’d have autonomy. But that’s not the lie. I didn’t make the lie.”

            “Autonomy? What do you—” The knife half-lowered in confusion, but I quickly raised it again. He watched this visual exchange of mine in a hyper-observant silence, eyes bobbing up and down to follow the blade. There was a pause. “Look,” I said. “I really don’t trust you. At all. But if you feel like _actually explaining_ things to me, then I’m all ears.”

            “You mean you really don’t understand?” he said. His expression seemed to communicate both concern and humor, as though he found my confusion a thing worth mocking. “But that means you were tricked, too. Maybe all of you were?”

            “What the hell are you talking about?” Despite the fear and nervousness that overwhelmed me, my adrenaline took over and I stepped closer, brandishing the knife. “Start at the beginning. Tell me why Aaron died in that simulation.”

            He clearly found my threat nothing more than amusing, but he played along regardless. “Aaron died because Aaron is dead. I’m Aaron. We are dead. We are a tulpa. You have never known Aaron as alive, because Aaron has always been dead. I changed your memories so you would think Aaron was alive. If everyone knew Aaron was dead, they would start to suspect him because his student wasn’t part of the group. I needed to make sure no one suspected Aaron so that they wouldn’t find me.”

            “Find you?”

            “I’m Aaron,” the mastermind repeated, red eye burning. “When he sleeps, he’s me. When I sleep, he’s him. Sometimes I have to be him even when he’s awake, like right now. That’s why he’s missing memories. But the two of us are one person. We’re two people put in one place—or maybe one person split into two. I’m not sure, but it doesn’t really matter.”

            “What?” I said. “No, that’s not… _No_ , Aaron is a different person. You’re a glitch that the program created because he doesn’t have a real tulpa. He’s supposed to kill you.”

            He blinked. “No, that would be dumb. I _am_ a glitch, though.”

            “But… then who’s your student? Olivia?”

            “Yeah, obviously. I’ve been trying to find her this whole time. She’s been hiding from me.”

            I stared at him for a moment, knife dropping downwards as I thought. “No… No, hang on. You must be confused. Olivia can’t have a tulpa, because she isn’t real. Look, I don’t know if you and Aaron are _actually_ in the same body or something, but I’m pretty sure one of you is the other’s tulpa.”

            “Olivia is my student,” he said. He took a deep breath, as though struggling to get air in. “Aaron and I are the same person.”

            “No, that’s…”

            He bristled with sudden anger. “You told me to explain, so that’s what I’m doing.”

            “But…” I stepped back, knife low at my side. “But if Aaron is Olivia’s tulpa, then why do you even exist? There’s no reason for you to be here!”

            “Glitches are never _supposed_ to exist.”

            “Th-That’s not a reason.”

            His face had screwed up in frustration. His jaw clenched and he let out half of a growl, lips pressed together, before taking a few unsteady steps closer to me. As he rounded the corner of the curtain I was horrified to discover the hilt of a sword sticking out of his middle, the blade buried all the way through his back. It glinted in the stage lights overhead. Had he been like that the whole time? His good arm clutched his middle above the injury, as though in a vague attempt to steady himself.

            “You’re not listening to me,” he grumbled. He leered forward on the next step, mutated arm swinging lowly at his side. “You need to listen. You don’t understand.”

            “I—I’m trying, but—” I shook my head, stepping back again. “What the hell happened to you? Who did that?”

            “Listen to me,” he snarled, attempting another unsteady step forward. “I don’t have a lot of energy left. You need to—rrgh—understand what’s happening.”

            “What is… what…”

            “I don’t know why she’s doing it this way, but she’s…” He buckled slightly, and to my alarm his person actually flickered—well, not all of him. The glitched parts of his body seemed to waver out of existence, his mutated arm blinking in and out of view. After a moment he recovered and raised his head again. “She’s going to try and break the rules. I don’t know what her plan is, but you have to stop her. Are you listening? Stop her.”

            “B-Break the rules?”

            “Like whatever you did to Ash.” His grimace deepened. “You can’t do that to Aaron! Are you _listening_ , goddamnit? Don’t do that to him. He died. You can’t—you can’t—you can’t—” His voice seemed to have caught on these two syllables, repeating. He pulled his head up, neck craning, and grit his teeth together to silence himself. His voice cut off with a growl and he lowered his head again, breathing hard.

            I swallowed. “But if I… If I can save him…”

            “No!” he snarled. He managed one more step forward, hovering over me, his face mere inches from mine. “You can’t. Please— _make_ her kill Aaron. _Make_ her kill me. You… You…” He wavered slightly, his features flickering again. “Don’t let her… get away with this.” And then he collapsed to the side, unconscious.

            As if that wasn’t enough, I was horrified to see that his glitched features had now flickered entirely out of existence; his face was clear and unblemished, his ahoge was back to normal, and where his mangled arm had once been there was nothing but the empty sleeve of his jacket. It was Aaron. Aaron, with his right arm missing and a sword sticking through his middle. So the glitch had been telling the truth? But…

            I straightened up, looking around. The theatre was the same, the dull stage lights glowering down at me. The auditorium was an empty and silent witness. And Aaron—once the mastermind, _host_ to the mastermind—was lying collapsed on the ground at my feet, face trapped in a lax grimace, utterly immobile. I made a full circle, casting my flashlight around. There was nothing of note.

            “Olivia?” I tried again, wary this time. No answer.

            Okay. Okay, this is fine. No, it’s fine, I could fix this. I just needed to look at what evidence was available and draw a conclusion from there. I checked behind the curtain from which the mastermind had emerged to find a large pool of blood backstage; this must have been where he was stabbed. Small droplets of it leading to the location of our conversation supported this conclusion. It all looked fresh, so this must have been recent.

            I considered. It had taken me, at most, perhaps 15 minutes to get to the auditorium since the point at which Olivia had directed me there. My conversation with the mastermind must have lasted… maybe six or seven minutes? So, at the most, about 23 minutes had passed since the last time I’d talked to Olivia. That wasn’t _too_ long, right? The mastermind seemed to think she was to blame for something, but could I really trust what he said? Most of his comments seemed to be directed at a possible plan to bring Aaron back from the dead; if that was really the mastermind’s primary concern, then it looked as though I could disregard his comments entirely.

            It occurred to me that I hadn’t gotten an opportunity to find out if he’d been running that simulation or not. But—I didn’t really need confirmation, did I? He’d been talking as though Aaron’s death was common knowledge, so he _must_ have been the one to show that to me. That confirms that he was trying to manipulate me, right? He’s the one who altered my memories, he’s the one who showed me the simulation… it was all a set-up, right? To trick me. Yeah, that had to be it.  
            But still; who had stabbed him? I figured I better investigate further.

            I knelt at his side, first making a tentative check with fingers to neck in order to locate his pulse. His heart still beat, though faintly; he wasn’t dead, just unconscious. The missing arm was no surprise, and I knew how that had happened, so I avoided looking at it for now. The stab wound went straight through his middle, front to back. The hilt was sticking out of his front side, so his attacker hadn’t struck from behind. And the weapon… the weapon…

            It was Doran’s Blade.

            No… No, come on, this is ridiculous. It’s all just getting to my head. I looked at it closer, casting my flashlight over it, squinting.

            It was Doran’s Blade. The hilt was wrapped in gold and red, and gleamed with unmistakable familiarity.

            But… But my flashlight is blue, isn’t it? It must be creating a tint, so it just _looks_ gold and red. This can’t be real. This isn’t happening. There is no way this is real. In a sudden fit of fright and thoughtlessness, I ripped the blade out of his middle to better study it in the light. Blood began to drip out of his injury, the sound uncomfortably loud in the echo-filled chamber of the theater. The sword sparkled in the stage lights, and red dripped from it too, and these drops echoed too. It was Doran’s Blade. It was unmistakably, undeniably, Doran’s Blade.

            I dropped it on the stage with a clatter and shot straight up, body filled with a nervous energy. Doran’s Blade had been in the real world with Olivia, so for it to be in this fake world now… Something must be off, right? I just need to find Olivia and she’ll explain what’s wrong. A small pool of red was beginning to form around Aaron; the blade of the sword glowed a dull red from all the blood, its handle equally red from all the wrappings; red dotted the dark ground around me at intervals; the red stage curtains bore down on me, and the red auditorium seats pushed me back—Jesus hell fuck, why was everything _red_? I dug the palms of my hands into my eyelids, trying to calm down, trying to blot out all the violent color.

            From this refuge, I heard the sound of Doran’s Blade gently scrape along the floor as someone picked it up. I removed my hands from my face. Olivia was standing there, expressionless. She wiped the blade off with a pale gray cloth and then sheathed it at her side, calm and business-like. She didn’t immediately address me, instead turning to Aaron and kneeling to inspect him.

            “He’s very hurt,” she said, then sighed and looked at me. “We’ll need to be quick.”

            The first thing I could manage was, “You’re in the prison for real?”

            Olivia nodded. “I’ve come here to help you finish this. I’m the one who stabbed him, because as you’ll recall he needs to have been injured by his student in order for the memory transfer to work. Well—this technically won’t be a memory transfer anyway, but there’s no need to worry about that just yet. The attack got a little dicey, as his glitch self is so unpredictable, but as long as we’re quick about this it should be okay. Mads,” she said. “I’ve been lying to you. I apologize.”

            I blinked. We stared at each other. “What?” I said.

            “I’ve been lying,” she said. “Since the day we first met, I’ve been lying to you. For Aaron’s sake.”

            “Lying—you haven’t been lying to me! What have you been lying to me about?”

            “Aaron, of course. He’s my tulpa. He’s been dead all along. I always knew who the glitch was and where he came from—the truth is, while someone who isn’t real _can_ have a tulpa, it’s not _supposed_ to happen. The program doesn’t register me as a human being; as such, there was a glitch in the system. That’s what the mastermind is. The whole fiasco has put Aaron through a lot of hell, but I had to avoid telling anyone because if I did then we’d never be able to save him.”

            “What? Why not?”

            She took a step forward, smiled a little, and lowered her gaze. “Again, the program doesn’t register me as a human being. So in order to perform a memory transfer… well, there’s some complications.”

            I stared at her, waiting for the rest. She let a long pause settle into the theater before continuing. “As you know, a memory transfer needs to go through the student—me, in this case. But if the program doesn’t register me as human, then the memories can’t be split up across multiple individuals. The ‘signal’, as it were, can never leave me, because the signal isn’t compatible. So in order to resurrect Aaron, all of my memories need to be wiped.”

            “So you’ll… what, you’ll become catatonic?”

            “I wish,” she said dryly, tone annoyed and snappish. “’All of my memories’ includes the memories that make me self-aware. If you wipe my brain, I won’t be self-aware anymore. I’ll cease to exist.”

            There was a long, uncomfortable pause as what she was saying sunk in. We stared at each other during this silence, unmoving. Then I shook my head. “No—no, hang on, come _on_. This is just some prank, right? Some—some dumb joke you’re all playing on me. You wouldn’t have lied to me this whole time, that’s…” I shook my head again. “Come on.”

            She let out a breath through her nose. Her expression was flat, derisive, and unforgiving. “Who has been controlling all of the simulations?”

            I swallowed. “You, but…”

            “Who told you that there weren’t any simulations left, only for you to discover that there was still one more?”

            “Well—you—”

            “Who told you that the mastermind was Aaron’s tulpa?”

            “…You.”

            “Who told you that I couldn’t have a tulpa because I wasn’t real?”

            “You did.”

            “And who—” Olivia paused, taking a breath. “Who had the bright idea of bringing Ash back from the dead? Gam didn’t even know that was possible! _I’m_ the one who knew how to do it because _I’m_ the one with Junko’s notes. I’m the one who’s been hiding all of the prison’s secrets, right up until this moment. Do you believe me now?”

            I swallowed. I _did_ believe her, but I didn’t want to. Now that someone was spelling it out for me, however, it was undeniable; it never could have been anyone but her showing me that simulation. My heart was pounding. I stepped away from her, shaking my head on instinct.

            She stepped forward. “I was always the _true_ mastermind, Mads. You had plenty of opportunities to realize this, but you never did. You didn’t trust your intuition.” Her eyes seemed to gleam. “I manipulated you in order to gain your faith. I lied to you. I told you I would never lie, and that in and of itself was a lie. I am the mastermind. I am the enemy. I am the culprit.”

            “Wh-Why?”

            Her expression darkened even further. “The cost for Aaron’s life is my death. If everyone knew that was the case ahead of time, then no one would agree to it.”

            “I don’t see how this changes anything!” I cried. “I _still_ don’t agree to it. I’d like to save him if I could, but he’s already dead. It’s not worth murdering someone else to bring him back.”

            “But you’re _not_ murdering me,” she said. “I’m not real. I cheated existence itself. I never should have been here in the first place. Plus, I’ve already died multiple times—I don’t remember all of them, so possibly even hundreds. _Plus_ , if I’d never come to the real world in the first place, then none of this shit ever would have happened to you! _And_ I lied to you. So you’ve got plenty of reason to choose his life over mine.”

            I made a face, throwing up my hands. “Fine, then! Fine. Run the program and kill yourself. I don’t care.”

            She was quiet for a moment, expressionless. Then she grinned. “I can’t.”

            “Why not? Another stupid bullshit rule that you were hiding from me?”

            “No,” she said. She laughed a little. “I just don’t _want_ to. After all these years, after all the fighting and death… after surviving that campsite and defeating Junko… After _all that_ , I have to throw it all away and go back to not existing? I can’t do that to myself. I don’t have the heart.” Her eyes drifted over to Aaron’s form, lying prone on the ground. “But he died because of my mistake. So I have to fix it.

            “But I _can’t_ just…” She looked down at her hands, silent for a moment. Then she looked up at me, a placid smile on her face. “That’s why you’re going to do it, instead.”

            “ _What_?”

            “That was the real reason for all the secrecy,” she murmured. “So I could get you in a situation where you would have no choice but to help. Really, it wasn’t even my idea—all I had to do was follow Junko’s plans, she wanted everything to go like this…” She trailed off as she reached into her trench coat pocket, retrieving a small red button with a protective glass case over it. “She even built this little switch for it, so you could literally kill me with the press of a button. Easy.”

            The item was tossed my way, and I caught it on reflex. There was a pause. “No,” I said. “No, I’m not going to play this stupid fucking game. If you really want to off yourself for _his_ sake, then do it on your own.”

            “I’m not telling you to kill me, necessarily,” she said, eyes glittering. “I’m telling you to decide whose life is more worth saving. It’s your choice. Which one of us lives, and which one dies?”

            “I told you, I’m not doing this,” I snarled, and tossed the button back at her. She stepped to the side, allowing it to clatter across the stage. There was a pause as we stared at each other, silent. Her expression was still entirely dead to me, cool and emotionless—yet smiling. My head was aching with fear and frustration.

            “Gam,” Olivia called up abruptly. “Are you back yet?”

            There was a moment of silence before the speakers clicked on. “Yeah,” Gam’s voice responded hoarsely.

            “How much of that did you hear?”

            “All of it.”

            “Good.” Olivia looked back at me. “Could you lock the theater doors, please? So Mads can’t leave?”

            “What?” I yelped. “Gam, you heard what she said, she’s crazy! Don’t listen!”

            There was another uncomfortably long stretch of silence. When Gam spoke again, it was with a low and level voice. “When we were talking earlier, Olivia, and you… you know, you were upset… It was all because of this, wasn’t it?”

            “No, it was because of _you_ ,” she said. “Though this certainly didn’t help my mood.”

            “So you’re the reason he died, huh? And you wanna make it right?”

            “Yes,” Olivia said.

            “Like I wanted to do with Caehl,” she said.

            “Yes,” Olivia said.

            Again, another strained pause. Then I heard a loud, high click as all the doors in the theater locked shut. The blood had drained from my face; my head felt empty and weightless and my neck too thin, as though it were going to snap off of my shoulders at any moment. I pressed my hands down over my head to keep it in place.

            “What the fuck,” I whispered. “What the fuck.”

            “Sorry, Mads,” Gam mumbled over the speakers. “It’s just that I can _really_ relate to Olivia here.”

            As I stood there, stunned and breathing, Olivia walked to the lip of the stage and sat down. She didn’t bother trying to retrieve the button, clearly intending for it to be my own responsibility. “If you _really_ don’t want to do this, then you don’t have to. But you’ll die too, then. All three of us will die, instead of just one. What’s left on the timer, Gam?”

            “We’re just about to hit the last hour.”

            “Thanks,” she said. She glanced back at me. “It’s up to you, Mads.”

            “You’re a bitch,” I said.

            “That’s okay,” she said. “I deserve that.”

            I growled in frustration. I checked on Aaron again to find his pulse still softly beating. His clothes were soaked with blood in long, angular patches. He was lying on his side with his good arm stretched out, as though reaching for something. Had the glitch been reaching to me? For help? This was insane. I paced back and forth across the stage. I picked up the button, glared at it through its glass cover, and pointedly put it down again. I paced for a while longer. I sighed, frustrated.

            “You knew who the mastermind was,” I said finally. “So you must have known about his powers and stuff. She lied to you about the possession, Gam! She’s the reason Caehl died.”

            “Not true,” Olivia said sharply. “I _really_ didn’t know about his powers. I thought he was just an aberration that was messing with Aaron’s mind, not an actual threat.” She half-turned around to look at me, expression gravely serious. “If I had known how to save Caehl—or AJ and Jacob for that matter—then I would have. I wouldn’t have allowed anything to get in the way of that.”

            “How do I know you’re not just lying again?”

            “You don’t,” she admitted, seeming to fight another grin. “But you _do_ know that I saved Ash, something which I hadn’t originally planned on doing. I risked revealing some of my knowledge in order to keep them alive. I would have done the same thing with any of the others, if given the opportunity. I know it’s not proof of my claims, but it certainly supports them.”

            I was quiet for a moment as she stared at me. “You sound as bad as Junko did,” I said. “You sound crazy, like she did. Like this is all part of some over-the-top masochistic showdown.”

            She shook her head and responded to me, very levelly: “Everything I have ever done has been to protect the rest of you. All of you. I _love_ all of you. You might not believe that statement, because I don’t have all my memories and you don’t have all of yours—but it’s true. I would do anything for any of you, and that includes dying. That includes lying to everyone else. That includes following through with Junko’s insane plans in order to set up a dramatic ending to her fabricated story. Whatever it takes to protect my friends,” she said, “I’ll do it.”

            “Junko really set all of this up, huh?” I murmured.

            “Yes.”

            “How do I know that’s true?” I snarled at her. “How do I know that _you_ didn’t set it up? You say you’re the mastermind, so the truth is that you must really be some diabolical fucker, right? Some… some masochistic, power-hungry asshole. Right? You can’t tell me you’re to blame and then turn around and say Junko set it all up. That’s not how it works. Either it’s your fault, or it isn’t.”

            “If it was that simple, then I would have already taken care of it,” she said.

            “But apparently you’re too weak to do it yourself,” I said tonelessly.

            “Right,” she responded in the same voice.

            I was quiet for a moment. “You say you’ll protect your friends no matter what. So what does that make me, huh? The victim?” She didn’t say anything. “I won’t kill you,” I said. “I won’t kill him.”

            Her cold, business-like smile had returned. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but you have to.”

            It was at this time that the alarm started.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<ASH>

}

            It was quiet. That didn’t surprise me, or anything; I’d expected that I would be met with silence and emptiness. But it was somehow _quieter_ than I’d anticipated, as though silence could get more silent. Even that unnatural hum of the prison seemed distant and muted, as though the prison itself were many miles from me. I couldn’t tell if I was imagining that or not; I wasn’t a tulpa anymore, after all. I’d “passed” the prison’s “test.” Maybe it naturally felt less real to me now.

            I didn’t know how to operate the prison’s controls; Olivia had left me there to simply monitor, and I was pretty sure she’d expected that I wouldn’t intervene. When she invited me into the room, her countenance was cryptic and hard to read. She had the prison’s camera set on the stage of the theater, which was lit and empty. She sat me down in the chair, pointed the camera to the cafeteria and its timer—saying it was “very important” that this area stayed monitored—and then disappeared through the portal.

            Naturally, the first thing I did was start scrolling the camera around in search of my target.

            Olivia had assumed that I just wanted to help her—and really, I did. But there was more to it than that. I had my own reasons for getting access to the prison controls. I had my own agenda.

            The prison, as it turned out, operated rather similarly to a video game with an overhead map; I could scroll between rooms and levels, looking down on their contents from above. First I checked the park in Kibougamine’s center—it seemed a likely place to find her—and when I found nothing there I spread out from that point. Luckily, I didn’t need to go much farther: in the hallway of the prison’s secondary wing I found her, walking silently, head half-lowered.

            I got up from Olivia’s desk and turned my attention to the portal. It sat, oval and disc-like, at a slight tilt—almost like it was leaning against the wall, if it weren’t for the fact that it wasn’t a solid object. At first I figured I’d just step through and take the elevator up—but then I saw that the view through the portal was different than what I was expecting.

            Hesitant but determined, I poked my head through to discover that I was in the back of the theater, in the confines of the wings. Cables crossed the walls and ceiling, casting long shadows in the dark. The door to the green room loomed to my right. I blinked, surprised; Olivia and Gam were capable of changing the portal’s location? Why had they never done this before? Suddenly, I felt very strange. Something about the situation was off.

            Craning my neck to look around, I picked up on the sound of movement in the near distance—a rush of sound, a sharp breath, a loud yell (it sounded like the mastermind’s voice), and then a wet shredding sound as something made contact with something else. Was there a fight going on? Was Olivia…?

            I stepped away from the portal, back into the safety of the workroom. For a moment I stood there, still and breathing. Olivia had been monitoring the theater before I arrived, but she changed the camera to the cafeteria before leaving—and she’d seemed adamant that I should keep it there. I’d never seen anyone switch the portal’s location like this before. Was she hiding something from me? From… _everyone_? This warranted investigating, but…

            But I’d come here for a reason. Looking into the theater and its secrets meant abandoning my original goals; I couldn’t do that.

            It took me a few minutes of nervous clicking around on the computer in order to identify the function for changing the portal’s location. After the right buttons were pressed, all I had to do was literally drag the portal in place. I didn’t want to be seen prematurely, so I decided to put it back at the bottom of the elevator; there was a grayed-out icon for a second portal there, presumably the one that belonged to Gam. I couldn’t edit it. I also couldn’t edit certain portions of the prison’s functionality, such as the doors in the ground that allowed access to the elevator—but luckily, the doors were already open.

            I hesitated a bit before putting everything into place. What if Olivia had left that portal there on purpose, for some unknown reason or another? She was planning on coming back eventually, right? _Right_? After a pause, I shook my head and followed through; I couldn’t back out now, not after everything I’d been through.

            Portal in position, I stood up and walked through with a deep breath.

            And thus the cold, and thus the silence. Back again.

            The elevator ride up was quick. As I walked towards my destination, I worried over the details of this secret return; was Gam watching? Would I be seen? But more than likely, whatever was happening at the theater would be enough to distract Gam. So long as my luck held, I could proceed with my plan uninterrupted, and afterwards everything could return to normal.

            I paused at the doorway to the prison’s second wing, cracking it very slightly and glancing through. My target seemed to be pacing back and forth in the hallway, as though lost in thought. She was facing away from me, so I quickly proceeded through, darting to hide in one shadowy corner.

            The door clicked shut behind me. Nikita spun around at the sound, eyes half-narrowed and critical, searching the darkness. “Is anyone there?”

            She looked… not frightened, but much more put-off than I was expecting. It certainly seemed as though she didn’t want to be found here. Swallowing my fears, I straightened up and stepped out of the dim shadows into her line of view.

            “Oh. Oh,” she said, nearly taking a step back but stopping herself with a compulsive twitch of one leg. Her staff was loose in her hands. She watched me with care, eyes brilliantly dark and even a little wide. Obviously, she hadn’t been expecting me. No one had.

            I couldn’t immediately speak, my nerves too shot to manage it. Her posture relaxed, straightening up, overly formal. “Hi,” she said.

            Not the response I’d imagined. I really _had_ caught her off-guard. “Hi,” I said.

            She half-glanced backwards, eyes narrowing as she studied the area in what was again a critical manner. “What are you doing here?” she said.

            “I, um…” I swallowed and managed a cautious smile. “I was looking for you.”

            “So you returned to the _prison_?” she said, disbelieving. She strode over to me, expressionless, having recovered from her initial surprise. “That was very reckless of you. We must return you to the real world immediately.”

            “Yeah!” I said. “And you’ll come with, right?”

            Nikita stopped with her hand out to me, only a foot away. She lowered it. “Ash… We have discussed this before. Have you forgotten? I will not be leaving the prison. I am to die here.”

            I shook my head rapidly, saving face. “Come on, that’s ridiculous. There’s no reason for you to die! And anyway, you’re not real or whatever, are you? So you can’t die! Staying here is pointless. Just come with me.”

            “It is true that I cannot die, yes,” she said. “However when the timer reaches zero, the prison and its contents will be destroyed entirely. I believe this will be sufficient enough to wipe my mind, and thus negate my unreality.” Her gaze flickered briefly as she glanced to the side. “It is not a guarantee, I grant you that. But it is enough for me to risk trying it.”

            “But _why_? Why do you want to die?”

            “Ash… Ash, that is a very complex question.”

            “Tell me. I’m your friend. You can trust me.”

            “It is not a matter of trust.”

            “Then tell me!”

            “I cannot—”

            “Tell me!” I cried, voice rising dangerously. I fought to bring it back under my control. “Is it because you were an imaginary friend, or something? If you go through the portal, I bet you’ll become real!—well, not real, but physical at least. Other people will be able to see you!”

            She was stone-faced. “That… isn’t the issue.”

            “Then what _is_?” I said, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “Look, I don’t… I don’t know the whole story, okay, so it’s hard for me to help. I don’t even know what you _are_ , exactly! You said you aren’t real, but what does that mean? You were with Buck, so—so—so _what_ , are you really an imaginary friend? Or an adaptation of something else? Or a ghost? Or a story, like Olivia? Or a memory?”

            She sighed. “Yes, but that is only a partial list—”

            “ _What_?”

            “…And I have wasted enough of your time as it is. I am sorry to say this, Ash, because you seem quite impassioned about all of it, but I will not be coming through the portal with you. I am quite set on dying here.”

            Heat rushed to my face. I was quiet for a moment. “Then tell me,” I said. “Explain _why_ , give me something. Give me some reason as to why I should just lie down and let you die.”

            She closed her eyes and raised her head, as though composing herself. “Because, Ash,” she said. “I am _tired._ I am very tired.”

            “Well… me too, but—”

            “No, you do not understand my meaning. It has been… so many years, Ash. So much time I have spent helping and living for others. All of it wasted, for none of my existences have ever been for myself.” She met me with the full, burning intensity of her blue gaze. “I told you that I did not want Mads to become attached to me. I was successful in keeping this from happening, but in the process I unfortunately garnered _your_ attachment. Now you wish for me to live, but… I cannot. I cannot allow myself to go through with this again.”

            “What… what do you mean?” I shook my head. “Living for others…?”

            “All of my lives have been for the sake of helping others,” she said. “It will continue like this forever, if I allow it to. That’s why it must stop here.”

            “But that’s not… That’s not a _bad_ thing…”

            “Why are you here, Ash?”

            I looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

            “Why did you risk coming back here?”

            “To… to save you, of course.” I swallowed, finding my resolve. “You told me you were going to die in the prison, and you told me I was the only one who knew that. I couldn’t just _let_ that happen. I had to intervene somehow. So I’m here to save you.”

            Before she could respond, a sudden blare of sound filled the air above us. It was an alarm, or perhaps a siren; it came in the form of a deep, hard, impending basal tone that rang through what felt to be the very core of the prison. It was accompanied by a flare of a bright gold light that engulfed the scene and then burned out of existence. About ten seconds passed, and then then the alarm and its light flared again. Ten seconds, then flare. Ten seconds, then flare.

            The sound was loud, but also strangely distant. Though the light came from all around us, the alarm itself sounded muffled, as though it were emerging from a different room. Still, it was startling; I looked around in a wonder, shaken. “What…?”

            “It is the prison’s alarm,” Nikita said, looking up as the gold flared again. “This is the prison’s final hour. One hour left until deletion.”

            I was silent for a moment, getting accustomed to this new pressure. “Okay. Okay, well, that’s more reason to get going, then! We can talk about all the ‘why’ stuff later. Let’s just leave.”

            “I am not going to leave. And as it were, you still have not answered my question.”

            “What?”

            She pried her eyes away from the incoming gold flare to look at me. “Why are you here, Ash?”

            “I told you! I’m trying to save you!”

            “And you think I really believe this?” she said. “If you wished to save me, you would have told the others. You would have alerted Olivia and Gam of my suicide wish. You would have found a more reliable way of extracting me. You did none of this.”

            “Th-That’s—”

            “Why are you here, Ash?”

            “I-I—I’m saving—”

            “Tell me the truth.”

            The siren blared. It wasn’t loud, yet it was digging into my skull. I thought I might cry but I fought it, lowering my head with my eyes squeezed shut.

            “Ash,” she began.

            “Fine!” I yelled. “I’m not here to save you, I’m here to save _myself_! There, was that what you wanted me to say?” I looked up at her, face burning. Her eyes were just a little wide again, just a little surprised. “I can’t take it anymore, Nikita! I can’t stand the way they look at me, like I’m a stranger. Like I don’t mean anything to them. I can’t live as a stranger around the people I love. I can’t start over again, I don’t have it in me, it won’t work—” I paused briefly, struggling to keep myself under control.

            “None of them remember me,” I said. “Gam does, but I never knew her very well, so it’s the same thing as starting over. Mads does, but I don’t know them very well either. Olivia does, but she’s—I don’t know _what_ she’s doing, but it’s scaring me, because I’m starting to think it’s going to change everything and even if it _wasn’t_ I can’t deal with the _guilty_ looks she keeps giving me, and I…” I swallowed. “But _you,_ Nikita, if I… If I had you around, I think I would be okay, you know? Just—just if you were there, I wouldn’t be so scared, so I’d be able to talk to the others, and it would be okay. So—so that’s why I’m here.”

            There was a pause. She studied me with those dark eyes, those blue eyes. “This was what I meant, Ash. Living for other people. I cannot do it again.”

            “No, but… No! This isn’t the same thing. Dying isn’t an answer, okay? It doesn’t matter what my goals are because it’s _wrong_ for you to just—just—just _throw_ your existence away.”

            “Ash,” she murmured. “I am not coming with you.”

            The alarm was still going off, incessant and endless. My heart was pounding in my throat; I felt almost sick from apprehension and fear. I felt as though, if only I could rewind time, I would be able to do this moment over again and do it the right way. I’d been too eager, too fast with her, she’d seen right through me… if only I could try again… No. I _had_ to try again. Because if I couldn’t have a friend with me—if I couldn’t have someone who knew me and remembered me and understood me—

            Then what was the point to living at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good god.
> 
> I definitely lifted some inspiration from Awful Hospital for one of the conversations here. And by "inspiration" I mean a word-for-word reference. [Here's the original.](http://www.bogleech.com/awfulhospital/297.html) (Credit where credit is due!)
> 
> Also, you may have noticed that I completely fucking forgot to write the bonus kills into the last simulation. I'll be adding a paragraph addressing that a little while after this update. Please forgive me for my meta-edits.


	38. 6.4 "Like People, Like Plastic"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm miles away, he's on my mind,  
> I'm getting tired of crawling all the way, and  
> I've had ENOUGH.   
> It's obvious, and  
> I'm getting tired of crawling all the way.   
> Crawling all the way.  
> Crawling all the way.

Trial Part 2

            Nikita was still staring at me; the alarms were still going off. Nothing was going to change unless I made it. I took a deep breath, steadying myself, lowering my gaze away from her cold and prying eyes. Here, staring at the dark (then gold, then dark, then gold) floor of the prison, I felt vaguely comforted. I could relax with less visual information to process.

            “You have to come with me,” I attempted.

            “I cannot.”

            “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

            “I am afraid that can’t be avoided.”

            “But… but you don’t have to _die_ …”

            “You will only bring yourself more pain with all this arguing,” she murmured.

            There was a pause. “I’m sorry,” I said, still looking down.

            “What for?”

            “For… for being selfish,” I said, a little amazed that she even felt a need to ask. “I came here for myself instead of for you, like I should have. And that was wrong. Because—because your life is on the line, so my own petty concerns aren’t important right now.”

            “Petty?” she said, voice low. “Perhaps you misunderstand me. I would say that, in this moment, your concerns are the most important in all of creation.”

            Now I looked up, stunned. “What?”

            Her expression was calm, eyelids a little lowered as she looked down at me, posture relaxed with both arms curling serpentine around her staff. “Ash, they depend on you.” She paused, looking away, bobbing her head as though considering the comments of an unheard voice. “No, _we_ depend on you. All of us. You remember a reality that few of them can fathom; a world in which you exist. Your life makes that world possible, and thus you are precious. They may not know it, but they need you.”

            “That’s…” I blinked, running a hand through my hair. “That doesn’t mean anything. What good can my memories do?”

            “Plenty,” she said. She paused, eyes narrowing as though struggling with what she would say next. “This is not an easy thing to follow, Ash, but I will attempt to explain.” She put both hands up, gesturing to each side of an invisible creation that twisted between her palms. “ _Understanding_ and _knowing_ are not the same thing. One can know something without understanding it; surely just as one can understand something without knowing it. _You_ can make them understand. You may not be able to make them know, but the knowing is just a step to the true end of understanding.”

            “You mean…” I blinked again. “They don’t know me, but they can understand me?”

            She nodded. “It will be difficult. I will not lie and say it won’t be. There will be days when any attempt at socialization will result in nothing but frustration. There will be days when you will feel unloved and ostracized. There will be days when you will want to give up; when you want to turn into your pain and weep. But these days will pass. You can show them your world, the world that only you know. With time, you can make them understand.”

            I huffed. “That sounds the same as normal life.”

            A warm, rumbling sound rose up through her throat; it was a laugh, though the humor didn’t reach her face. “Did you expect any different?” she said.

            I paused for a moment, studying her, the alarm humming distantly in my ears. My voice cracked a little as I said, “This coming from the girl who wants to die.”

            Her expression softened. “Ah, see—you know me, but you don’t understand me. Just as I understand you, but can’t claim to know you.” She gestured loosely with one hand. “I know nothing of you outside of these walls. And though you know me, you have not known me long enough to understand who I am.”

            “If you come with me,” I said, “I _could_ understand you.”

            “True, I won’t deny that,” she said, nodding. “But I am not necessary for your survival. I am not necessary for you to be happy. In fact, I believe you will be even _happier_ without me. In time, of course.”

            I was quiet for a moment. I took this silent stretch to seriously consider what she was saying; if I just turned and walked away right now, would things really turn out the way she had suggested? Even assuming that they did, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Could I really do that? Could I really live in a world like that?

            Without realizing it, I had started shaking my head. Through a tight throat, I said, “I… I’m sorry Nikita, but I don’t think you’re right.”

            “However not?”

            “I mean—you _are_ right. Fundamentally speaking. But… _me_?” I was still shaking my head. “If it was anyone else, then I would be on your side. But I’m just… not _strong_ enough for… that sort of thing. I don’t know how to… talk to people. I-I know that sounds silly, but it’s true. All those friendships of mine were hard-won. To win them all back again? Even if I _did_ tell the truth, I just don’t think that’s possible. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

            “You don’t need to,” she said. “Because you remember.”

            “No, that’s not…” I sighed, looking at the floor again. Gold, dark, gold. “I know I’m not alone, with all of them around. I know they care about me, and they could even come to love me again, with time. But it’s still different! It doesn’t make it any better. The—the _real_ relationships I had are gone forever now. There’s no way to bring them back. I can never make them the same again.”

            “Why do they need to be the same?”

            “Because… Because what’s the point if they’re different!”

            “Nothing can stay stagnant forever,” she intoned in response. “Eventually, there must be change. Even if all of them remembered you, change would still inevitably happen in your relationships.”

            “I know that,” I said, letting out a soft breath. “But after all I’ve been through… I can’t be what you’re asking me to be. I’m just… not that kind of person, you know? I can’t do this on my own. I need help, and you _obviously_ know what you’re talking about here, so… so that’s why I thought you should be the person to help me.”

            She sighed a gentle sigh. “Ash, I have spent much of my existence only acknowledged by one person at a time. Any of my knowledge comes from observation, not experience. Such knowledge can get us fairly far within the confines of this conversation, but in the real world? I cannot offer you much more than I already have.”

            “Still… just having you there would be like having a net, you know?”

            “I was always a rod fisher, myself,” she said.

            I frowned, blinking, and then spluttered out a choked laugh as the prison flared gold. “No, I meant like a _safety_ net.”

            “I… knew that,” she said.

            There was a pause. Unfortunately, my composition—like the prison’s—soon grew dark again. “I don’t know. I guess I could _try_ doing this on my own. But I know I wouldn’t succeed. I mean…” My brow furrowed. “Even looking past all of the problems with me getting close to everyone again, I’m not even _supposed_ to exist in the first place. I was supposed to die.” I swallowed. “It’s like… I can hear them, you know? Not literally, of course. But it feels like I can hear all of them. All of the dead, standing right behind me. Their… ghosts, or whatever. It feels like they’re trying to call me back.”

            She stared, expressionless.

            “I don’t want you to become one of them,” I said.

            “I cannot leave with you, Ash,” she murmured, her brow furrowing. “I simply can’t.”

            I swallowed. I began to nod. “Yeah, I know,” I said. I took a deep breath. “So I guess I’ll just have to stay here, too.”

            She was still for a moment. “What?”

            “Yeah, I think I’ve made up my mind,” I said. “I’m not supposed to exist. I’m not supposed to be out there with the rest of them. So instead… instead I’ll just stay here. When the prison ends… then we’ll both be gone. It’ll be better that way.”

            “Perhaps you did not pick up on my meaning,” she murmured. “I was being quite literal when I said the others depend on you, Ash.”

            “Now you’re taking it too far. I’m one person! Even with my memories, I’m not all that special. I’m just the friend they don’t remember. I can’t offer any of them something that they don’t already have.”

            “You really believe that?” she asked, her eyebrow quirking up slightly. “Do you think the others do not have moments, late at night in bed, where in the process of rolling from one side to another a thought rolls over their minds as well, from medulla to stem, turning over their consciousness? Yet, when they try to retrieve such thoughts, they cannot remember what it was?” She closed her eyes, bobbing her head in a thoughtful manner. “They have these moments, you can be sure. And this lost thought? That is _you,_ Ash. You cannot make them remember. But you can fill the hole again.”

            “No, I can’t,” I said. Heat was once again rushing to my face. “I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to help anyone.”

            “So you think it better to die here,” she said. “With me.”

            I swallowed. “Not… I’m not thinking of it as dying, exactly. More like I’m making the choice to be with a friend. I don’t want to be alone anymore. If having a friend means dying, then… then I guess that’s what I need to do.”

            Her expression hardened strangely. “I am not your friend, Ash.”

            “Yes you are.”

            “A friend would bring you to this level of pain?”

            “You didn’t do this to me,” I said. “I was already here.”

            “A friend would make you want to die?”

            “You didn’t,” I repeated. “This is my choice.”

            To punctuate this statement, I turned and leaned against the side of the wall, as though settling myself in for the wait. Nikita didn’t say anything as I did so, watching my every movement with a leering and careful gaze. Her head was slightly raised so that she was looking down at me over her nose, the prison casting hard shadows all over her face. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking, exactly, but she seemed to be doing a lot of it.

            “You wish to give in to your ghosts,” she said.

            “No,” I mumbled. “I want to _join_ them. I was supposed to be one of them from the beginning.”

            “This is giving in,” she said. “You were given a second chance, and now you are to throw it away. You were given something that no other has ever received! And now you are to throw this away.”

            I looked over at her. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?” I shook my head again. “You keep saying the others need me, but they don’t. How could they possibly need me?”

            “You are resourceful,” she said. “You are _powerful_. You made your way back into the prison, did you not? And without being noticed, at that.”

            I frowned, lowering my gaze. “I just snuck in after Olivia left. It wasn’t hard!”

            “But it was brave. Few others would even think to do this.”

            I shrugged stiffly. “It doesn’t matter.”

            “I do not want you to die, Ash,” she said.

            “And I don’t want _you_ to die! But you won’t come with me, so I have no choice.”

            There was a pause as her gaze wandered. “I see. You really feel this strongly of me?”

            My throat tightened. “Of course I do. You’re my friend, no matter what you say.”

            “I see.” Her eyes drifted back to me, low and unendingly blue. “I care very deeply for you as well, Ash.”

            Nikita said this very bluntly and frankly, but something about the intensity of her gaze and the crooked bend of her posture struck me as profound. I was cleaved in half by the sincerity of her statement, stricken and unable to move under the weight of meaning. Impaled on a cinderblock and left to die in the desert night. Suddenly unable to face her, I straightened up and turned away, hand hovering over my eyes for fear of coming tears.

            “Ash?”

            “I… I’m sorry, I…” I laughed weakly. “I think I’m scared. Again.”

            “A fear of death is nothing to be ashamed of,” she murmured.

            I still couldn’t bear to face her. “That’s not what I’m afraid of,” I managed. “I… I think I’m afraid of failing you. Isn’t that silly? There’s less than an hour left on the timer but I’m somehow worried that I’m going to do something wrong to you in that time. Like… in some way, I’m going to do something stupid to make all of this unravel. I… I must be c-crazy to keep putting myself down like this, right?”

            “Not so. I would say it proves you are sane. But you’ve given up on yourself too easily.”

            I laughed a bit. “Well, it’s too late to go back now.”

            “You must,” she said behind me. “Please go back to them.”

            “I can’t,” I said, my voice properly cracking now.

            “So you are set on staying here?”

            “Yes.”

            I didn’t _want_ to die, exactly. Well… maybe I did. Putting all my thoughts together was hard. What I wanted, more than anything else, was some sort of assurance that _something_ was going to be okay. If I could just have a little bit of faith in some place or some person, then I wouldn’t feel so afraid. Maybe then, I would want to live—or maybe it wouldn’t change anything at all. I didn’t know what that assurance felt like anymore, so I could hardly put any faith in it.

            Nikita was quiet for a long moment. “Forgive me, Ash.”

            I made a spluttering, choking sound. “What do _you_ have to be sorry for?”

            “What I am about to do,” she said.

            My stomach dropped in fear of a sudden impending pressure. I turned around just in time to see the crook of her staff come down on my head. And then all was blackness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<MADS>

}

            Fear and indecision were coursing through my veins, running my blood raw. There was an incredible amount of energy lodged in my limbs, but nothing for me to do with it. The alarm wasn’t helping, either; it had turned on in every room but this one, occasionally dousing the windows on the doors with gold light. It was distant, but impending, the sound not unlike the alien cry of a warning siren. I wished I could somehow get rid of it. I could hardly think with all the pressure it created.

            In fact, I had gone dead silent ever since the alarm had started. Instead of talking, I was opting to pace around the length of the stage, head lowered. My mind imagined an audience for our play—on stage, they would see the following:

  1. Me, pacing the perimeter in a poorly-disguised panic
  2. Olivia, sitting at the curtain line with her hands in her lap, legs dangling
  3. Aaron’s unconscious body at stage right, the sight of his breathing only barely visible
  4. The button lying prone at what was almost exactly center stage, the primary focus of the unfolding drama, the focal point for all of my torment as well as the tether that kept me pacing
  5. (Offstage) Gam, alone in her hideout in the real world, wringing her hands (?), sweating from fear and suspense (?)



            If this were the beginning of a play or a drama, then one of us would inevitably have to say something pretty soon. True enough, some performances liked to test the audience’s patience—but with less than an hour left on our literal and figurative timer there was no longer any space for a spectacular theatrical asspull. It was either do, or don’t. Understand, or don’t. Try, or don’t. Survive—or don’t. So I knew I needed to say something pretty soon. I needed to reach a conclusion before there was no longer a conclusion to reach.

            Drawing a breath, I turned to face Olivia’s back from where I stood in front of the button. I said, “Okay, I—I just need to ask one more time. Are you sure this isn’t some joke or something? Cause I’d be _pissed_ if it was, but also… also really relieved.”

            “No,” she said, not turning my way. “It isn’t.”

            “So all of this really happened. You really lied to me—you really lied to _everyone­­_ —in order to set all this shit up? In order to single me out and get me alone here in the prison? You really did all of that?”

            “Yes.”

            “And you—on _purpose_? You really did all of that on purpose?”

            “Yes.”

            “And then you still have the _audacity_ to say that you’re friends with all of us? That you’re doing this because you _love_ us? I mean—I mean do you actually _believe_ that when you’re saying it? And do you believe that _I’ll_ believe it? You can’t love someone if you’re going to trick them and trap them and lie to them. It just doesn’t work.”

            “Ever since you entered this theater, I have been completely honest with you,” she said levelly, still refusing to turn her head. “Whether or not you choose to believe me is up to you—and I understand completely if you don’t. In some ways, it’s even _better_ that way. I want to make this easy for you, after all.”

            “Easy?”

            “Yes. Killing me. I don’t want it to be hard.”

            I scoffed. “Well, yeah, you did a _great_ job of that. I feel absolutely nothing towards you right now.”

            “Good.”

            I silently fumed at her long rivers of hair. “But, you know, you _want_ me to kill you. So since I’m supposed to hate you right now and everything, why would I give you what you want?”

            “Well, I couldn’t make it perfect,” she said. Her shoulders shifted in a shrug. “The specifics are up to you.”

            “What about him, then?” I said, swinging an arm over in Aaron’s direction. “ _He’s_ gonna feel something about this. He’s gonna feel a _lot_ of somethings about this. You couldn’t make him emotionless. I mean—you stabbed him, right? So he’s gonna have his memories back now, right? What about you?”

            “His memories should be returning, yes. Mine won’t. I’m not real, remember? The computer doesn’t register me as human, so there’s no reason for it to give me anything.”

            “Good for you,” I muttered. There was a pause. “So what about Aaron, then? Doesn’t he get any say?”

            “He’s unconscious,” she said flatly. She shifted slightly, but still didn’t turn. “If he wakes up, then you could ask him for his opinion, I suppose. But in the end, it’s up to you, regardless of whether he has any input or not.”

            More fuming. My chest hurt, as though something were pushing up against it from the inside. I glanced back at the button, gleaming wickedly in the stage lights, then over at her again. “So if I decide I want him to die,” I said slowly, “then you’ll let that happen? You won’t intervene?”

            “Yes, that’s right.”

            “But you want to save him.”

            “Yes, but I’ve relinquished my power to you. I have to accept whatever decision you make, just like he does.”

            “But…” I grit my teeth. “You’re not making any sense. You _said_ you would die to save him—all of us, whatever—but now you won’t do it yourself. You’re making me do it. And if I make the decision that you don’t want, you’re just going to let it happen? That doesn’t add up at all.”

            “Mads,” she said. “I’ll be the first to admit that my actions over the past six days have been cowardly, brutish, crude… driven entirely by weakness. But I do not want to die as an underhanded villain. I want to die honestly, and truthfully. Or—at your discretion—I want to _live_ honestly and truthfully. Either way, my trickery ends here.”

            “You told me you were the mastermind only a little while ago,” I sneered back. “You had a whole speech about it, even. And now you say you don’t want to die a villain?”

            She laughed—a quick, rough sound that choked up through her lips. “I said I’m not going to lie anymore. That doesn’t mean I can’t be contradictory.”

            I huffed. “I don’t believe you. Why would I ever trust you again?”

            “You have absolutely no reason to,” she said, tone frank.

            I was silent for a moment. “I don’t understand,” I said finally. “I don’t understand you. I want to understand.”

            “Why? If you understand me, won’t it be harder to kill me?”

            “Yes. Maybe. That doesn’t really matter. I need to understand.”

            “But why?”

            “Just tell me!” I said, voice hard with frustration. “Tell me why you did all of this. Tell me why you thought this last resort bullshit was the right answer. Tell me why you didn’t talk to the rest of us about this. Tell me why you keep contradicting yourself. I need to understand.”

            Her head tilted to the side, the brown of one eye glinting into view. “What _I_ need to understand,” she said, “is why _you_ need to understand.”

            “ _Because!_ ” I said severely, voice low from strain. “I need to know why you did this to me.”

            “Did wh—?”

            “Singled me out!” I yelled, nails digging into palms. There was a pause as I took in a brutishly hard breath. “I need to know why you would say all these nice things about the others— _do_ all these nice things for the others—but hurt _me_ like this. I need to _understand_ you. You say you love everyone, but you act like you hate me. You say you’d die for Aaron, but you can’t do it yourself. You say that you’re the one to blame, but Junko’s the one who set it up. You said you wouldn’t lie to me, but that was all you ever did! What am I—what am I supposed to believe? How am I supposed to know what to do when I don’t even know who you are?”

            She didn’t move, expression still hidden to me. “Mads, I didn’t… my intention was never to hurt you. I trust your judgement here. That’s why I chose you. I’m biased— _clearly_ —and with his memories back, so is Aaron. Gam has all of her memories as well. But you don’t remember. You’re impartial. You know Aaron and me about the same, so you’re a fair judge.”

            “A fair…?” I swallowed. “That’s _it_? That’s the whole reason you did this to me?”

            “Yes.”

            “But I…” I felt like gagging. I paced, clutching at my hair, then rounded on her back again. “This is the _problem,_ don’t you see? I don’t know you. How can I know if I should kill you or not? I just… I need to understand… Who _knows_ what we were like in the past? We don’t remember!”

            “I don’t know,” she said to me. “It’s possible that we didn’t have any sort of a relationship at all. Or, at the very least, didn’t talk all that much. If that were the case, then your memories wouldn’t be of much use anyway.”

            “Then tell me,” I said. “Let me understand you.”

            There was a moment of silence. She began, “I don’t—”

            “I can’t _take it anymore_!” I screamed at her back. The sound of my voice echoed like the bang of a drum, overwhelming the whole theater. I was half-knelt, knees buckled, hands clutching at the empty air. “ _I can’t do this anymore_!” I cried. “I can’t—I can’t—” I sucked in a breath. “E-Everything I’ve been through, with Nikita and Jacob and AJ and all the tulpas dying and Laura going crazy and I-Izzy and Ash and I— _I can’t take another second of it!_ I thought I was _done_ , do you understand? And now you want me to _kill you_?” I had long since begun to cry, hot red tears burning my cheeks. “My heart is _breaking_. I…I can’t handle any more of this… _crawling_ around, this begging for it to end. I _can’t_! Just let it be _over_ , please.”

            Now, finally, she turned. Her eyes were a little wide, a little surprised. She lifted herself to her feet with one hand, leaning slightly as she moved towards me. “Mads, I didn’t… this wasn’t my intention.”

            “What did you _think_ would happen?” I seethed, backing away from her despite myself. “That I would be completely okay with this? That I would immediately press the button and be done with it? Well people—people don’t _work_ like that, okay? You can’t just _predict_ us! You can’t _make_ us do things like this!”

            “I know that, I’m… I’m a person too.”

            “Really? Are you _really?_ Because I think maybe you were just made to look like one, not _be_ one. A real person wouldn’t put their friends through something like this.”

            She blinked. She was standing just a few feet in front of me, near the center of the stage, her arms half-raised as though to reach out to me. I had backed away, body language taut and unforgiving. I thought of Gam and wondered why she wasn’t saying anything. Olivia blinked again. “I guess you’re right,” she said.

            Her arms lowered. Her expression softened, then hardened in a different way. She stepped back, over to where the button was lying, and looked down at it. It was difficult to read her. She stared at it as though expecting it to bite, and when it didn’t she sat down next to it, facing it; cross-legged, with her elbow on her knee and her head in her hand, as though resigned.

            I didn’t move immediately. My cheeks and chin were wet and burning. I roughly rubbed the tears away and sniffed. It felt like the theater lights were trying to set me on fire. Olivia seemed to be keenly aware of me, though she wasn’t looking at me; while her eyes were directed at the button, she seemed to be looking at something else entirely, as though staring through the matter itself and into a world that only she knew. I sat down across from her, the button in between us.

            “Junko really did set all this up,” she said in a small voice. “That’s not a cop-out, it really is the truth. It was all written very bluntly in her notes. In all honesty, it was probably _directed_ at me to read; I think she intended for me to find those records and realize what she had planned. But if that’s true… well, it means Junko _planned_ on getting defeated at the campsite. Which means we’ve been playing into her hand this whole time.” Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t like to think of it that way. I like to imagine her as desperate. I think she was determined to make sure I died and suffered, no matter what it took—and so she set up a bunch of possible scenarios in which I could be destroyed. This one was her last one, her failsafe. A situation that I have no way of getting out of, because she knew I won’t let Aaron stay dead.”

            Olivia paused, quiet for a moment before continuing. “Because of her notes, I knew what I was getting into. I knew if I so much as _touched_ the computer simulation, then Aaron and his glitch would be brought to life and I would have no way out of this. For a little while, I… For a little while I thought I might not intervene at all. I’d just let the prison keep existing and never touch any of it. And when I _did_ start looking into things, I saw there was already a mastermind there, and even though I didn’t know it was a friend at the time I thought I might just…” Another pause, longer. “But of course, I couldn’t do that to my friends. If there was even a _chance_ of saving but one of them, I had to take it. Even if it meant dying myself. Now, here we are.”

            “But how could you even _think_ that way?” I asked hoarsely. “You _knew_ Junko had set all of this up to trap you. And you didn’t even remember any of us!”

            “Does that really matter? I remembered you once, that much is true. And after everything I’d been through at the campsite…” She shook her head. “If there was even _half_ a chance that all of you would be as precious to me as everyone else, then there was nothing else for it.”

            “But… to die for someone that you don’t remember, that you can’t keep… for _all_ of us… And then not even be able to do it yourself?” I pressed my lips together. “It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t understand it.”

            “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could explain myself better. I know I’ve put you through… well, a lot, to understate it. But I really… I couldn’t manage this any other way. I know that’s very silly and cruel of me.”

            “No… I mean, yes, it is.” My brow furrowed. “But it’s not… You’re right, this _is_ hard to explain.”

            She smiled in a sad, apologetic way. I looked down at the button, then back up at her. “Some days, I would resent all of you,” she said in a soft voice. “I would get angry that all of you were going to live—and only because _I_ was helping you at that—but I was going to die. It made me irrational and jaded. But other days…” Her expression twisted. “Other days, I wouldn’t have it any other way. It made me happy to know that I could give myself up for the people I love. It made me so happy to give in for all you perfect people.”

            My throat had closed up. “I don’t want to do this, Olivia. Please.”

            “You don’t have to,” she said. “I won’t make you. But if you don’t, then he dies.”

            I let out a sound somewhere between a huff and a sob and turned to look. Aaron was still lying there on the stage, unmoving, completely prone and innocent. Olivia was the one who had set all of this up. Olivia was the mastermind, the culprit, the criminal. Olivia was the one with the blood on her hands. But to kill her? To destroy her?

            “If I really…” I looked at her again. “If I really let him die, you would be okay with that?”

            She sighed. “I would come to regret it, I imagine. Eventually. A few weeks from now, or maybe even a few days. Then I would hurt and hate and pain myself over it. But it wouldn’t be your fault. I would never blame you.”

            Although I didn’t trust her, I was surprised to find that I _did_ believe her. I sat there for another moment longer, studying her overly calm, overly level expression. And then, abruptly, it slipped; it was no longer level or calm. Her eyes welled.

            “Sorry,” she said. She lowered her head to wipe at the tears. “I was trying not to do this but—you’re right! You’re tired. So am I. We’ve both been crawling through the past six days, clawing at each other like animals.” She sobbed, laughed. “And we’ve so very little to show for it. I’m tired, too. I want it to be over.”

            I picked up the button and got to my feet. I looked down at it. The base was solid black with a glass case over it; the button within was blood red. As I stared down at it through the glare of the stage lights, it seemed to me as though it were like a precious gem; a ruby of implacable worth, more valuable than a river of gold. I simply stared at it, unmoving. I didn’t know what to say.

            “I’m sorry,” Olivia said.

            “I know,” I said. “Me too.”

            Aaron heaved a strangled gasp behind me.

            I spun around. He had shot awake, his good arm compulsively clutching at the stage in search of something grounding. His eyes were wide; his legs kicked as he squirmed up onto his knees, shaky, only to collapse to the side. “What the… what the…” he gasped, looking at the stump of his arm in horror. His breathing came in short and shallow huffs.

            “Aaron…” I said, starting towards him in alarm.

            He saw me. “Mads! Mads, fuck—what—my arm is—” He seethed, wincing, a whine escaping his teeth as he clutched at his bad side. “It h-hurts—and I remember all this—all these things about…” His eyes found Olivia. “… _her._ ”

            He was beyond hyperactive, body overwhelmed with adrenaline. “Calm down,” I said. “You’re going to be okay, we can fix this.”

            “ _My fucking arm is gone_!” He yelled.

            “We’re gonna fix it,” I said, eyes dropping to the button in my hand and then back to him. “It’s—a thing with the prison. We can make you better, okay?”

            It seemed to occur to him, as though from a great distance, that both Olivia and I were crying. His wide eyes—too wide, agonizingly wide—shot back and forth between the two of us. He attempted to stand up again, arm shaking beneath his weight, pant legs slick with his own blood. “What the _fuck_ is happening?” he said through grit teeth.

            “I’m very sorry, Aaron,” Olivia murmured. “For everything.”

            He had managed to sit up, unsteadily, on his knees. “Why do I remember all these things about you?” he asked her, with horror. “You’re—you’re the mastermind, right? Why do I know who you are?”

            She didn’t say anything.

            “Why do I—” He had begun to cry now, too. “There was a cave, in the canyon—and Momo, _fucking Momo_ … Why did I _die_ for you?”

            I had begun to back away from him of my own accord. The button was shaking in my hands.

            “Someone tell me what’s happening!” he yelled. “ _Someone fucking explain_!”

            “We’re going to do a memory transfer,” I said, voice unsteady.

            His breathing was still hard and shallow. Realization colored his features as he studied the two of us. “But you—but she’s not—” His expression twisted in Olivia’s direction. “I-Is this real? You’re _not_ real? But I died for—” He clutched at himself with a sudden sob of agony and despair. “You’ll kill her. You can’t—! I only just remembered, I…”

             I was having trouble getting the glass case off. My hands were shaking too badly. “Please, Aaron, just let me—”

            “Don’t do this,” he snarled at us, attempting to move forward. He struggled to do anything but crawl, burdened by the blood and the pain. “Don’t kill her. Just let me die instead. Don’t do this, please.”

            He said it as loudly as his cracked and strained voice could muster. The sound of his words was like a cannon, a war drum beating in my heart. It felt like my chest was on fire. I could feel Olivia behind me, a pressure, a presence. Aaron was asking me to stop but I couldn’t. The glass case had popped off.

            “ _Mads_!” He screamed. “ _Don’t kill her!_ ” Adrenaline had forced him to his feet and he half-stumbled, half-charged me in desperation.

            I panicked. I screamed. I closed my eyes and slammed my hand down on the button.

            Silence. My eyes were closed, but I could feel Aaron in front of me where he had screeched to a frozen halt. His breath came out in hard gasps, welling over me. I could smell his blood. I opened my eyes and saw him stunned, unmoving, gaze locked on mine as though afraid to look away. He was shaking all over—even his eyes were quivering, his entire being positing, rolling, vibrating like a tuning fork. I turned around.

            There was nothing there. Where Olivia had once stood there was nothing but empty space. There had been no fanfare; no cleansing fire, no phoenix rising. One moment she was there, and the next she wasn’t. That was all there was to it. With one quick brushstroke, one touch of hand to button, she was erased. She was, simply, gone.

            In front of me, Aaron fell to his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end... it looms. 
> 
> And yes, this update is titled after the AWOLNATION song of the same name.


	39. 6.5 "Who Are You?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motherfucker, I'll be back from the dead soon.  
> I'll be watching from the center of the hollow moon.  
> Ah...  
> Oh my god, I think I might have made a mistake...!  
> Waiting patiently was waiting taking up space.
> 
> We are waiting taking up space.

Trial Part 3

            There was, in theory, plenty of time to process what had just happened. If I wanted to, I could have stood there for the rest of the prison’s duration wondering over what I had just done. But I _didn’t_ want to do that. I didn’t want to think about it ever again in my life. All I wanted to do was to get the hell out of there.

            Ignoring Aaron, I called up in a hoarse and too-loud voice, “Gam! How much time do we have?”

            “I, uh—” The sound of her carried a hurried, sharp, uncertain strain to it. “Eight… E-eight minutes.”

            “Is that enough to get down to the portal?”

            “M… Maybe? I’m not… Hang on a minute.” She was silent for an uncomfortably long stretch of time, during which I paced irreverently. Aaron heaved hard breaths behind me, and attempted to rise again. He was huffing and seething with pain, and made no attempt to say anything. Considering all the blood loss, I was surprised that he was still conscious.

            Gam’s voice returned. “This whole time I’ve been trying to figure out how Olivia got the fuck down here. O- _Obviously_ I’ve been doing other things too, like watching you guys, but—whatever. Point is, she could a’ used the portal downstairs, sure, but if that was the case then she wouldn’t have had enough time to fuckin’ stab Aaron before you showed up. I think she knows how to move the portal around on the interface?”

            “Can you do that?” I asked, unable to keep the relief out of my voice. “That would be great, if you could just put it right here so we can leave.”

            “I need a minute to fuck around with this thing,” she said curtly. “In the meantime you two better start heading to the elevator, just in case I can’t figure it out.”

            I didn’t waste time responding, instead opting to dart down the stage’s steps and into the auditorium. I only got a few rows down before I noticed that Aaron wasn’t following me—rather, he was _trying_ to follow me, but couldn’t get very far on account of his injuries. He would stumble a few steps, waver, wince, whine, then stumble a few more. I ran back and shoved my shoulder into the crook of his good arm, forcing him to put his arm around me and walk with my support.

            He breathed hard, chest heaving against me. Occasionally he would grimace or otherwise vocalize his pain, frequently glancing at the dead arm that dangled at his side. Watching him was torturous; the way his expressions rapidly alternated between emotional and physical pain was like a bladed pendulum slicing through my heart. I forced myself to keep my eyes fixed ahead, focused on the goal.

            Despite being slowed down by his injuries, we made fairly good time. We were nearly to the manhole leading back into the prison when Aaron suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, yanking me to a halt. I huffed and unfurled my arm from him to turn his way.

            “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

            I was looking towards his injuries, anticipating some sort of rupture or failure. He shook his head, face set in a hard grimace. “Oh no, I’m _fine_ ,” he snarled. “There’s nothing wrong at _all_ , Mads. I’m having a fucking blast!”

            “Aaron, we don’t have the time for this—”

            “Yeah, you’re damn right we don’t! Do you know what time it is, Mads? It’s fuck o’clock, Mads. Because we’re _fucked,_ Mads. Everything’s _fucked,_ Mads.”

            I scoffed at him in frustration, proceeding to the manhole in a fuming silence. He didn’t follow. I shoved it open and paused in front of the hole, glaring at him. “What, do you need help _climbing,_ too? Does everyone just expect me to do everything around here?”

            “I’m not going,” he said flatly, his previous humor gone.

            “What?”

            “I’m not going,” he repeated. “I’m staying here.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<ASH>

}

            I must have been conscious for at least a minute before I became aware of myself again. I had been lulled into an almost sleep-like state by the gentle rocking motion that carried me, a steady rolling rhythm, a soft back-and-forth sway. I was dazed, uncertain of what was happening; I was confident that I was lying prone, but I was also moving at the same time. When I finally did open my eyes I did it slowly and carefully, without moving anything else. My head was tilted downward, slumped. Above me I could see the ceiling of the prison, slowly moving as I did. To my side, where my head rested, was Nikita’s shoulder. She was carrying me.

            I didn’t know if I should say or do anything, so for the time being I stayed still while my mind raced. She wasn’t looking at me, her head raised and pointed forward. I wondered where she was taking me. There weren’t a lot of options. As I sorted out my memories of everything that had happened, a pang of fear raced through me; she had knocked me out. She must have a plan of some sort.

            Now eager to intervene, I made to raise my head—but I could barely lift myself even a few inches off of her shoulder. My head spun and my eyes swam painfully; she’d _really_ hit me with that staff. I was surprised that I didn’t throw up when my head fell backwards again. I groaned.

            “You are awake,” she observed calmly, having never broken stride.

            “What is…” I managed weakly. I was surprised by how thin and frail my voice sounded. “Where are we?”

            “We are just now approaching the elevator,” she said. “It is good fortune that the doors were left open.”

            “But the portal’s down there,” I said.

            “Precisely.”

            “You mean… we’re leaving?”

            “ _You_ are.”

            I groaned again, but this time it wasn’t from the ache in my skull. “ _Please_ Nikita, put me down.”

            “You are too hurt and dizzy to stand upright,” she said flatly. “Were I to put you down, you would not be able to make it to the portal in time, and thus you would die.”

            “That’s exactly what I had in mind, yeah!” I cried.

            She didn’t immediately respond. I heard a loud metallic hum and then a jolt ran through the both of us as the elevator began to descend. I hadn’t even noticed when she stepped onto it. A sense of panic was beginning to overwhelm my middle, gnawing through my innards, but I forced myself to stay calm.

            “I am truly sorry for betraying you like this, Ash,” she said as the elevator fell. “But as you will recall, a few days ago I made a promise to you that I would not let you die.” Her eyes half-dropped to me, looking down at me over her wiry shoulder. “I do not break my promises.”

            “Nikita,” I said, croaking it. My eyes were welling and the pain was impossible to fight. “Please, _please_ don’t do this. I don’t care how you change it, just _do._ Come with me, let me stay… it doesn’t matter. Just pick one. Please!”

            “It doesn’t matter?” she echoed, raising her voice in derision. “It is only your _life_ we speak of, Ash. And you claim it does not matter whether you live or die! This is how I know that I cannot allow you to carry on like this. Even if giving into your demands _wouldn’t_ result in your death, it would still do irreparable damage to you. You cannot rely on me, Ash. You must learn to be strong without me.”

            “You’re going to die,” I sobbed.

            “It is my own choice,” she said.

            “What about me?” I said. “It’s _my_ choice whether I live or die!”

            She shook her head; one quick jerk of movement. “You wish to die for me. I wish to die for myself. It is different. Your judgment is muddled.”

            “And what gives you the right to decide that?” I yelled. I struggled again to sit up, writhing in her arms. I had gained back some of my strength, but not enough. She merely tightened her grip.

            “We are nearly there,” she said in response.

            I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Also, I was quite certain I was about to cry; I didn’t want her to hear or see me like this, overburdened and defeated. I didn’t want her to see me at my weakest, even if she was the one who had brought me here. I resisted the urge to quiver in her arms; I resisted the urge to sob. The elevator came to a jittering start and she stepped off, beginning the long walk down the hall to the silver gleam of portal in the distance.

            “Please,” I whispered.

            She didn’t say anything. We were about half of the way down the hall when she abruptly came to a stop, standing still with me in her arms. Her expression was distant, studying the portal ahead of us. After a pause she looked down at me with tired eyes.

             “There are but a few minutes remaining on the timer, by my calculations,” she said. A gold flare of the alarm further punctuated this statement. “Before our time is up, there is something I would like to clarify. If I could—indeed, if I was capable—I would want nothing more than to leave this place with you, Ash. I would like very much to be with you and aid you. To perhaps teach you of the world, and in doing so learn more of it myself.” Her gaze softened. “I do quite like fishing, and I always thought you might be a quick learner. You have the arms for it.” I felt one of her hands twitch slightly underneath me, as though moving against her. “But it is no matter. I have not the patience to live any longer.”

            Despite the sincerity of her statements, her speech had somehow managed to become _more_ formal rather than less. I once again thought that I might cry, and then suddenly I was.

            “Please, Ash,” she said, voice softening like her face, ridges disappearing behind broader hills of emotion. “Do not cry. Everything will be just fine.”

            “But I’m scared,” I managed.

            “The truth is,” she said. “So am I.” And then she raised her head and kept walking forward.

            Now I couldn’t respond because I was sobbing. The portal loomed. When we were but a foot in front of it, she knelt and dropped my feet to the ground. I was weak and unsteady, wavering, unable to hold myself up. My vision was half-incoherent from all the tears. Her other arm stayed around my upper half, keeping me upright. I was completely off-balance; one shove was all it would take to push me through.

            “Don’t do this,” I managed through a hiccup. “Please, I’ll… I’ll just run back through. You can’t stop me.”

            “I had not finished with what I was saying earlier,” she said, bringing her other arm in front of me, so that both of them were caging me in a loop. “I also wanted to say thank you. Your presence and actions helped convince me that what I was doing was right. You see, Ash,” she said, and smiled at me, her entire expression shifting to fracture into something new. “I would like very much to live a life free of obligation, in a world where I can be with those I love. But a person like me is not fated for such a destination. Mine is a road of burden, and you have helped show me that it is time for that road to end.”

            “But how…?”

            “By showing me that if I stayed, I would have another person dependent on my existence,” she murmured. “You are so much more than me, Ash. Do you even know who you are? You are utterly unique. You are capable and original. Just like all of your friends around you. My existence would only take away from this.”

            “But…”

            She bobbed her head, closing her eyes, as though telling me to save it. She was drawing herself slightly away from me, the smile still warm on her face. “I cannot expect you to fully understand. It is a complex thing, my existence, and we haven’t anywhere near the time to explain. But I think you understand enough. Enough, at least, to move on.”

            “You can’t keep me on the other side of that portal,” I protested, but I could hear the weakness in my voice.

            Instead of responding, she tapped her right hand directly into the small of my back and just like that I was flung through the aperture. I immediately spun around, desperate to run back out—she stood right at the barrier, arms out, blocking my entrance. I reached through and grabbed her forearms, trying to unseat her alarmingly steady stance. I don’t know what sort of noise I made during this time, but I am vaguely aware of making a lot of it and of it being very loud.

            We may very well have struggled like this, on either side of the portal, up until the prison’s very last second—but then a horrified voice behind me said, “Wh-What?”

            I was alarmed enough to turn. It was Buck. The noise (or the curiosity) must have drawn him here. He was looking straight past me to Nikita, his eyes wide with shock, caught in the headlights of an unexpected vehicle.

            I felt her tense up beneath me, though her stance still didn’t waver. Her eyes were on him, just as his were on her. I was caught in the midst of a freak snow storm, a flash flood that was suddenly and without warning drowning out the entire room. My ears rang with the soundless sound of howling gales; my skin prickled with unseen papercuts as the papers on Olivia’s desk took imaginary flight and consumed me in a whorl. I was the lightning rod to their thunderous finale.

            But the thunder never came; the lightning never struck. Buck’s shoulders lowered. His expression cleared and calmed.

            Nikita said, very collected, only showing slight strain from the pressure I was applying, “Could you remove Ash for me?”

            He made no attempt to respond to her. Instead he walked forward and completed her command with little effort, peeling me off of her as though I were a wet leaf. He tucked his arms underneath mine, trapping me up to his elbows. I writhed, no longer caring about how dizzy I was. But I couldn’t escape.

            Nikita straightened up, stepping back from the portal. My eyes twisted to the side and found the timer on the screen—15 seconds. Again I made a series of noises that I have no clear recollection of.

            “Thank you, Buck,” she said. She blinked and turned again to me, observing me through the silver. The prison flared a brilliant, blinding gold behind her as the alarm made its final warning call. “Thank you, Ash.”

            Then she smiled again. I screamed and in a last-ditch effort managed to lunge forward, one arm arching through the portal, reaching out to her, making contact, gripping. Somehow, through the endless gold, I’d found her. I could pull her out of this sea of gold and riches and foolish promises and bring her into the real world, into a place where I no longer had to be afraid and alone. I had her and everything would be okay—if I could just pull her through! Just pull her through, just pull her through, just—

            I was not fast enough. Suddenly and without warning, the entire aperture went black. I stumbled backwards into Buck from shock, and he was quick to release me, stepping away. The portal was a perfectly black disk of nothing that hovered briefly in the air, and then dissipated from existence. The prison was gone. Nikita was gone. It was over.

            My hands were shaking. I looked down to see green covering my palm, and in my panic and adrenaline I was briefly incapable of registering what I was looking at. After a moment I realized—it was Nikita’s armband. Olive green and worn with age. I had pulled it off of her, but the rest of her had not followed.

            I was shaking all over. I looked up to see Buck’s eyes on me, gaze wide with something almost fearful. He glanced briefly in the direction where the prison and Nikita had once been, and then he growled, “Who _are_ you?”

            Color rushed to my face. I clutched the armband to my chest.

            “Just a friend,” I said hoarsely.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<MADS>

}

            “No,” I told Aaron. “You’re _not._ ”

            “Yes I am,” he snarled, face screwing up with more than just pain. “There’s something I need to do.”

            “Something you—there’s, like, five minutes left on the timer, Aaron!”

            “Four,” Gam cut in from above.

            “Four!” I yelled. “There’s no _time_ for you to _do something_.”

            “I can save her,” he said in a rushed voice. He wavered, clutching his bad side. “I think I can save her.”

            “How in god’s fucking name—”

            “The mastermind!” he spat. He huffed a frustrated breath through strained teeth. “He’s… inside of me or whatever, right? He’s got powers and all that shit cause he’s a glitch. He can fuck with reality and all that.”

            “So what?”

            “She’s in the fake universe now, right? She’s gone back to just being a character. If I could… send her a message or something, you know, I could maybe jog her memory. It could work, okay? I can control him. I can control him and use him to bring her back.”

            There was a brief, pained pause. “Aaron,” I said, forcing my voice to soften. “Aaron, you can’t control him…”

            “Yes I can!” he said. He half-lowered his head, shaking it. “Okay, yeah, I’ve never actually done it _before_ , but I seriously think I can. If I try. Will you just give me a chance here? What the fuck do we have to lose?”

            “Our _lives_! Aaron, that glitch fucker wants you _dead._ If you—if you wake him up or whatever for him to discover that you’re still kicking and Olivia isn’t, he’s gonna lose his fucking mind! He’s gonna snap and murder both of us. I guarantee it.”

            “Not if I can control him,” he said.

            “You _can’t._ We don’t even know if this will work! What if she’s not in the fake universe at all? What if she’s really just gone for good?”

            “We don’t know unless you let me try.”

            “Are you kidding me? Yes we do! You have never once—”

            “She’s _gone_ , Mads,” he choked out. “You don’t understand—all the _shit_ I’ve remembered… I-I-I have to try.”

            “Fine!” I threw my arms up. “Do it, then! What does this have to do with me?”

            “I can’t fucking _move_ without you,” he seethed, broiling. “If you leave me here, I _will_ die. Mastermind doesn’t have shit to do with that.”

            I wanted to scream in his face. My skin was on fire from rage. “We’re going,” I said. I grabbed him roughly by the arm, forcing him towards the manhole, and with the state his injuries were in he had no choice but to comply or else risk serious harm. He protested me the whole way, voice rising far above the range of the alarm (which, in the past few minutes, had been steadily increasing in volume, as though crying out for help). Ignoring him, I forced him to start climbing before I followed him from above.

            I said nothing as we descended the steps. I forced myself to stay quiet. I kept telling myself, don’t say a thing and keep climbing. Let his words dissolve into the air. Let his pain go unanswered. This isn’t my problem. This isn’t my responsibility. I’ve done enough as it is. I’ve been through enough as it is.

            At the base of the ladder, he grabbed me in an attempt to slow me down. He was weak, however, and easily shaken off. How could he expect to control a glitch if he couldn’t even control me? I forced my arm over his shoulder and kept moving.

            “You’re just going to let her go?” he hissed at me. “There’s a chance to save her and you’re going to give it up?”

            “My life is on the line,” I said.

            “I think you _want_ her dead. I think you’re pissed cause of what she did so you’re trying to get back at her. What the fuck have you been keeping from me this whole time, huh? You two were acting like _real_ fuckin’ pals up there, completely ignoring me. Was she showing you things? Did you feel betrayed? Is that why you won’t let me save her? For reve—”

            “Shut the fuck up,” I said through my teeth. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

            “Yeah, cause you wouldn’t fucking tell anyone!”

            “I was trying to _protect_ you.”

            “Well!” he yelled. “You’re about as good at it as the glitch was!”

            “Do you actually think saying shit like that is going to get you anywhere? You’re just pissing me off.”

            There was a pause as he shivered against me, holding back a cough. I didn’t slow my pace. “You have to let me try,” he said. “Please, you have to let me try. I can’t let her go without at least making an attempt. Please, while there’s still time.”

            “There _is_ no time,” I murmured.

            “I’m fucking _begging_ you,” he said. I ignored him—we were at the entrance to the elevator, which was open. Strangely, the elevator was not at the surface, as though someone had used it recently and it was still making the return trip. “Gam?” I asked the air.

            “Fuck if I know,” she said. “Uh, two minutes, by the way.”

            “Any luck moving the portal?”

            “Yeah, I think I’ve figured out how to do it. Gimme a minute.”

            I wanted to remind her that we only had two, but I held my tongue. The less distracted she was, the quicker she could work. Aaron suddenly dug his hand into my shoulder, holding me in a death grip.

            “Let me try,” he said.

            “And get us both killed? Just let it go, Aaron! It’s over. She’s gone, okay? I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do—”

            “Yes there _is_ —”

            “Nothing _safe_ we can do,” I said, sighing hard. I wasn’t looking at him, focused on the elevator.

            “Please,” he said.

            I was about to lose my fucking mind. I pulled away and rounded on him, ready to start properly screaming, but his expression startled me more than I anticipated. He was partially hunched, wavering from all the blood loss, his eyes twisted up and quivering as they focused on me. His mouth was a serpentine line that gave the impression of sickness, but it didn’t really seem like he was going to throw up. Rather he seemed dazed, wide-eyed, as though his gaze was capturing more than mine ever had.

            “Aaron…” My voice died in my throat. I felt strange.

            I looked at him and I realized something: I had no idea who he was. I simply had no clue. Maybe I had known before, a year or two ago, but those memories had been taken from me and now I had no idea. I had talked to him, once, twice, many times in this prison, and he had told me bits and pieces of himself, things about his desire to leave and his interests and how badly he wanted to escape this place—but did any of that really mean anything? I had no idea who he was. I couldn’t claim to know his opinion about most anything, or otherwise make an educated guess; I couldn’t predict his next statement or infer how he might respond to my behavior; I couldn’t say who his best friend was, or explain why he felt the way he did about Olivia, or tell a stranger what made him a good person, or tell a stranger what made him a _bad_ person—I couldn’t say what his childhood had been like, or what his family had been like, or what his favorite things were, or why he acted in the way he did; I couldn’t understand why he was so hell-bent on trying this, or why he was looking at me with that desperate expression right now, and I certainly couldn’t predict what would happen if I let him go through with it. I had no idea who he was. How could I possibly know what was best for him? And asking him— _who are you, who are you_ —what good would that do? There was no more time to get to know him. I had no idea who he was—I had no idea what would happen if I gave him what he wanted, if I dared to believe in him. I had no idea who he was! But the decision was still up to me.

            My shoulders had lowered, the tension leaving me. “Okay,” I said in a small voice. “Okay, try it.”

            He hesitated, expression shifting. “Seriously?”

            “Sure. What the fuck do I care anymore? Just make it quick.”

            He seemed like he might say something else, but he thought better of it and turned, facing away from the elevator and towards the doors of the cafeteria. He stood there, a few feet away from me, starkly illuminated in the golden glow of the alarm. He took a deep breath and carefully straightened himself up, core quivering from the strain of holding up his overtaxed form. His good hand stretched out at his side, fingers flexing. He closed his eyes, and took another breath.

            There was a long stretch of silence. Hesitantly, I said, “Is this—?”

            “I just need a minute,” he snarled immediately. “Just give me a second. I can do this.”

            “Are you _meditating_?”

            “ _No._ I’m trying to… find him.”

            “Okay,” I said. There was another long stretch of silence. We hardly had any time left at this point, and my stomach was twisting in knots. “Aaron—” I started.

            “Just—” He buckled over suddenly, cupping his hand over his eyes, and a sob escaped him. With his body all curled up like this, coiled like a wire, he shook and wept into his palm, hand obscuring his expression. After a moment he went silent and still. After another moment he drew his hand away from his face, sucking in a breath, and straightened up again. “I can do this,” he croaked, not looking at me.

            I didn’t say anything this time. After a beat, he closed his eyes again. He breathed in. There was another deadly pause, and just as my heart was beginning to falter he suddenly jolted, tensing up, limbs curling as though bracing himself—and then a calm seemed to wash over him, from his head downwards, and his features shifted in response. His ahoge glitched, flickered, and then disappeared entirely. The black and corrupted right arm grew back into place, phasing into view as though it had simply been hidden in shadow the whole time. His arms—now plural—were still lowered.

            I had tensed up, overwhelmed with uncertainty. He wasn’t moving. He was hardly breathing. “A…Aaron?” I whispered, daring to step closer.

            His eyes opened, very slowly. The right one was solid black with a red dot in its center. It was the glitch. It was the glitch. It was the glitch. Had he taken over? Was Aaron still in control? I had no fucking clue what to think.

            But, as I stepped closer, I noticed some things that I had not immediately observed. There were no cracks beneath his left eye. His face was smooth and unblemished. There were no glitches in his hair, due to the ahoge being gone entirely. And the arm—the arm was still black and unnatural-looking, but less so than before. It was the right size for his body, and the right length, and though the fingers ended in points they were no longer the wicked talons of some animal. Despite all this, however, what was by far the most noticeable difference to him was his expression.

             He looked perfectly serene, perfectly calm. I had never seen Aaron or the glitch ever look like this before. His eyes were empty of all things; of pain, of fear, of aggression, of doubt, of despair—he was perfectly calm, perfectly collected. I had no idea which one I was looking at, but in either case it was like looking at a different person entirely.

            Gently, deliberately, he lifted his right arm—the blackened one—and gestured in front of himself in a circular motion. Promptly, a tear formed in the air in front of him, a perfect one-dimensional hole in three-dimensional space. He placed his blackened palm on its edge and pulled it a little further open. Through it, I could see nothing but shifting whiteness—or blackness? Both? It denied explanation. It was nothing. It was not a color or sight or anything at all. What I saw could not be seen.

            Slowly, Aaron—or the glitch?—leaned forward. He murmured into the rift, “Olivia?” and promptly shook his head in frustration. His voice had come out in tinny whistles and skips, guttural and glitched. He lowered his head and then raised it, trying again. “Olivia. You remember my voice, don’t you? Listen.” This time he sounded clearer.

            “You need to remember,” he called. “Remember what you are. Remember us, your friends. Come back. We need you. I—I need you.”

            My heart hopped out of place and lodged itself in my ribs, black and sick. I was full of an emotion that had no words. Hands pressed to my chest, I dared to step to his side and murmur, “Please, Olivia. You can’t leave us like this. You were—you were just trying to… You don’t deserve this. Come back and be with us.”

            I didn’t know if my contribution would matter. I doubted it. The anomaly beside me didn’t even seem to be registering my existence. “Please,” he growled into the void. “ _Please._ ”

            Then his eyes, wavering, finally looked over at me. His posture was slowly fading, gaze unsteady as his body wavered. “Thank you,” he told me. And then the hole winked out of existence and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious and back to his old self.

            I fell to his side, trying to lift him up, but he was limp and utterly lifeless. The alarm burned gold all over us. “A-A-Aaron…”

            Abruptly, another hole appeared to my right—this time, it was the portal. Gam had figured out how to move it. She stood at the other end, ringed in silver, eyes wide. “We are down to the fuckin’ _wire_ here. Let’s hurry up and get him through, it’ll heal his injuries. Thanks to fuckin’ Olivia.”

            She knelt through to lift his front half, and with her help I managed to stagger through into the real world, in her hideout. My legs gave way beneath me and I collapsed, breathless, about to weep with relief. I was so tired that I hadn’t even registered how the program had fixed Aaron, but when I looked up his wounds were gone. His arm had even grown back. I imagine it had simply _appeared_ , just like so many other things in the prison had simply disappeared.

            Speaking of—the portal was suddenly engulfed in blackness and faded out of existence shortly thereafter. The prison was gone. We were out. It was over. Aaron and I were alive. But Olivia… I didn’t know what to think. Aaron had succeeded in his gamble, but it didn’t necessarily guarantee anything. I felt conflicted as I stared down at his sleeping form, his arms folded near his face, his expression calm like it had been earlier. This was what he’d wanted, right?

            But how could I say? It just wasn’t my place anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Re_dux is a little weird because it technically has four separate climaxes. 
> 
> 1\. Zach deciding to overcome his fears and fight MD (Man v. society, due to how he was ostracized and blamed)  
> 2\. Aaron overcoming/controlling MD (Man v. self)  
> 3\. Mads realizing that she doesn't know Aaron and can't control him (Man v. man)  
> 4\. Ash being unable to save Nikita (Man v.... technology? I guess?)
> 
> If you want to get literal with me, then the "true" climax is #3 because it happens to our protagonist and fits all the traditional rules for it. I think the other three are just as relevant, however, and that's why I bother to point them out right now. 
> 
> The conclusion will be coming shortly.


	40. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this all started with a song...
> 
> Let this be our last one.

EPILOGUE: At the Price of Oblivion

execute {

re: switch

re_ null.new

<ASH>

}

            Three weeks later, on the morning when she came back, I was woken up by the sound of gunfire.

            I ran to the window of my bedroom, alarmed. I was greeted by the vision of Izzy marching through the snow in long, self-important strides to the front door of the mansion, her arm raised and her gun firing wantonly into the sky. She was clearly very eager to get everyone’s attention over her discovery. Behind her was, unbelievably, Olivia, partially buckled over as she tried not to laugh at the spectacle. I immediately ran for the stairs, eager to get down to them.

            Despite my speed, I was far from being the first one to make it. There was a veritable crowd at the front doors as I stepped outside. Olivia was trying to explain herself to them. I was so shocked, so excited and relieved, that my brain had flatlined and I could hardly process what she was saying. It didn’t matter much anyway, because before she could get very far Calise bolted through the doors and tackled her in a hug. She managed to stay upright, trench coat floating out like wings as she hovered with Calise latched onto her, but she was soon knocked over when Haley arrived to perform a similar maneuver.

            I had half a mind to do the same thing, but there were so many people that I could hardly get very close. And anyway, it wasn’t like any of them remembered me—it would be a little weird to participate in the scene. Instead, I watched in silence, hands folded in front of me, smiling and occasionally laughing as the others talked.

            I had thought the whole spectacle might calm down after a little while, but in spite of the cold everyone seemed bent on staying outside longer. Neil and Buck brought out a table and a few chairs, and Zach and Izzy worked together to start a bonfire. We had gathered many times like this over the past few weeks, but with Olivia around it now felt different. Now, everyone was here. A proper congregation had formed instead of only a shadow of one.

            Although I felt quite strongly about the nature of the group, I found myself slowly slinking away as the hours went on. We had gone from a reunion to a full-blown party as the sun crawled its way across the sky. I was happy to see everyone together, but I also wanted some time on my own.

            My wanderings took me to the cliff side overlooking the campsite far below. Dexter and Bree had found this place a few weeks ago during a walk, and discovered the small gravesite that Olivia had left here. It didn’t take us long to infer its creator—even if we hadn’t been able to figure it out by process of elimination, it still had her name metaphorically written all over it. I sat down a few feet away from the Ankh, legs dangling over the edge of the cliff, eyes cast down to the glittering lake beneath me.

            It hadn’t snowed in several days, but there was still plenty of the stuff coating the ground around me in clumps. I was cold, but not unbearably so—cold was something that I’d been getting strangely used to as of late. As I looked around, sighing, I couldn’t help but feel oddly out of place; though not because everyone had forgotten me or anything. It was because, looking at the campsite, I realized that it was a place to which I had never belonged. I had only been here to witness half of the tragedies that had taken place. But even so, that didn’t make me any less a part of the group. Even though the others had forgotten me, it didn’t make me any less a part of them. I was still just… myself.

            A lot had happened to us. A lot had been lost to us. Ryan, Pam, Dani, Ohanzee, Jae, Jason, Enoch, Gigi, Max, Caehl… I blinked, considering the order, considering the dark blue of the sky. Malcolm, Jack, Ari, Natasha, Jacob, AJ, Kayla, Nikita… Even Momo, Halley, and Jake. So much lost. But even though I could hardly bother to think about anything else, I didn’t feel sad—because I was also thinking about how much we _hadn’t_ lost; the memories and people and places that we had held dear and kept safe. And that… well, that really counted for something.

            “Hey,” a voice said suddenly behind me. I was so distracted that I hadn’t heard the footsteps approach. “You okay?”

            I turned to see Aaron standing there, hands in his jacket pockets, expression slightly affronted as though unsure of himself. “Oh, I’m fine,” I said. “I was just sitting here and thinking.”

            “Okay,” he said uncertainly. “A lot of us are heading back to the Strawberry House. Jillian roped everybody into a big game of capture the flag and that was enough to wear us out, I guess.”

            I blinked. “Strawberry House?”

            He grimaced, sighing. “Sorry, I mean the mansion. Fuckin’ Zach’s got Izzy and Laura and everybody else calling it that now. It took him no less than five goddamn minutes to get Olivia using it, and now I guess I’m doing it too.” He shook his head. “Whatever. You coming back, or…?”

            “Not yet,” I said, turning back to face the campsite below.

            “Oh, okay,” he said behind me. “Uh, what are you doing?”

            “Just thinking, I guess,” I said.

            “Oh.” There was a pause, then he walked over and sat down next to me, legs also draped over the cliff’s edge. I scooted to the side to make space, not minding the company. There was a stretch of silence as we both sat there, watching the lake and the buildings clustered on its far edge.

            Aaron cleared his throat suddenly, gesturing. “That’s where, uh… Olivia and Tristan and the others were captured by Junko. Before you showed up.”

            “I know,” I said.

            “Oh.” He blinked. “Someone told you?”

            “Uh… well….” I hesitated, glancing to the side. Sure, I’d been _told_ —on the message boards. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

            “Right. Well, apparently everyone who was in the prison tried to rescue them, but Junko was expecting that and had them all captured. I’ve got all my memories back, but I was _dead_ at that point, so,” he snorted in an exaggerated, derisive manner. “You know, _whatever_.”

            I laughed lightly. “You must be happy though, right? Since Olivia’s back.”

            “Huh? Well, yeah.”

            “I was told that you were the one who… rescued her, I guess.”

            “Oh. Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged stiffly. “I still don’t know if that actually _worked._ Maybe she just remembered on her own. I don’t know.”

            I frowned. “You mean you haven’t talked to her yet?”

            He shrugged again, wiggling his shoulders, looking away noncommittally. “There’s just so many people around, y’know? And everyone’s so excited. It’s all a little _much_. I’m just waiting for the right time.”

            I nodded.

            There was a pause as his eyes grazed the landscape. “So… someone told you about what happened in the prison, I guess?”

            “Yeah,” I said. This one wasn’t a lie, as of course I’d been preoccupied during the prison’s final hour—Gam had filled me in on what happened after the fact.

            He was quiet for a moment, fidgeting. “This all must seem pretty weird to you, huh? Since you’re not involved in any of it.”

            “Not really.”

            “Huh,” he said.

            “I would like to know what happened to you, though,” I ventured. “Between you and the… glitch.”

            “Nothing really,” he said. He paused, swallowed, then shifted in place. “Well, I guess… I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. At the time it felt like I defeated him, you know? Like I’d sort of… found him in my mind and just crushed him and taken his powers. And that was pretty cool to think about, I guess.” He averted his gaze. “But now that I’ve thought about it some more, I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe it’s more like we… made up? That sounds stupid. No, more like we came to understand each other, sort of. And learned to work together.”

            “That makes sense,” I said.

            He laughed. “No it doesn’t.”

            “No, really!” I said, grinning at him. “Really, it does. That makes sense to me.”

            “If you say so,” he said. “Maybe you could explain it to _me_ , then.”

            “Well… you need to understand a person in order to do anything serious with them,” I said. “And you’d never gotten to understand him before then. You guys got a chance to sort of… talk it out. Even if you weren’t _actually_ talking. That makes more sense to me than crushing him and defeating him.”

            “Alright,” he said. “That makes sense, at least.”

            We were both quiet for a moment. After a while, I found my voice. “You know, I… There’s something I should probably tell you.”

            “What?”

            “I’m actually…” I swallowed. “Well, I was Laura’s tulpa. Olivia and the others sort of… tested the memory transfer thing on me. So most of you don’t remember me.”

            He stared at me. “That’s… Are you _serious_?”

            I nodded. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I _still_ might not tell anyone else, actually. But I… well, this’ll sound stupid, but I thought I should tell you because you’re the other tulpa who survived. We’re the only ones. So it just… it just made sense that we should band together or something, I guess. Sorry, I know that’s a lot to drop on you.”

            “No, that’s… it’s fine, I just…” He paused for a minute, considering, his head half-lowered. “Wow. I’d always sort of… suspected. I think Kayla or someone mentioned something like this back in the prison, so I’d been a little suspicious. But I didn’t think it’d actually be _true_. Huh. That’s really shitty for you. I’m sorry.”

            “It’s okay,” I said, laughing a little in an attempt to lighten the mood. “This will _also_ probably sound stupid, but I’m sort of okay with it by now. It’s gotten better over the past few weeks. I think…” I touched my throat. “Well, I think I’ve learned a lot because of it.”

            “Hey…” A voice said warily behind us.

            I turned to see Olivia standing there. She had approached in silence. Her trench coat hung around her like a shroud, her arms lowered as she studied us in something like a wondrous silence, her eyes a little wide, her expression a little hesitant. She seemed to be staring at us with a mixture of pride and surprise, as though surveying a scene that she herself created, a moment that she herself had manufactured, and finding the product of it to be more wonderful and brilliant than she had ever planned.

            “Did you… hear any of that?” I said a little nervously.

            “Yes,” she said, glancing between the two of us. “Though I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Could I sit?”

            Aaron and I both scooted away from each other to make room for her. She sat in between us, trench coat billowing out like spilled paint behind our group of three. Aaron was silent, his gaze low to the lake far beneath us. I stared. Olivia didn’t immediately say anything.

            “I wanted to talk to you about some things,” she said to me at length. “I was having trouble finding you at our little party, though.”

            “Yeah, I… I just didn’t want to get in the way, I guess. There was a lot going on.” I glanced at Aaron. He didn’t raise his head, but I could tell that he was listening.

            “Is it okay to talk here?” she asked.

            I nodded.

            Her eyes fell to my neck. “I couldn’t help but notice…”

            I touched my throat again, feeling the warm worn cloth of Nikita’s armband. I’d fashioned it into a very short scarf that was now tied tight around my neck. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s… I wanted to talk to you about that, too. Because a while ago you said… you said you had a theory about her. And even though… I mean, I’m okay now, but I _did_ still have some questions about it all. So I wanted to hear your theory, if I could.”

            “Good thing I came back from the dead, then,” she said. She nudged Aaron, and he started.

            “What?” he said.

            “I never _could_ figure out where that message came from. But all of a sudden I had all these memories back for no reason. So I started universe-hopping to get back. I’m glad it only took a few weeks—I was worried it would be a lot longer.”

            He blinked, struck.

            Her gaze shifted. “Haley explained what happened after you guys got out of the prison. She told me she was so mad that she, and I quote, ‘punched you in the dick’? Could I get some clarification on that?”

            “We got in a little… fight,” he said in his usual wry tone. “She was pissed that you were gone. But it all turned out fine, so I guess I’m the real winner in the end.”

            “Implying that you _weren’t_ the winner of the fight.”

            “I resent that.”

            She grinned at him. There was a pause. “Thanks,” she said.

            He huffed. “What, I risk my ass controlling a glitch and manipulating the very fabric of reality and all I get is a ‘thanks’? What was even the fucking _point_?”

            “How about a thanks and a promise that I won’t push you off this cliff?”

            “You wouldn’t anyway.”

            “Yeah, I know,” she said. She glanced back at me. “I’m still not too sure about Nikita, to be honest. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I’m starting to believe that my theory is wrong. But I can tell it anyway, if you’d like.”

            I nodded.

            She sighed, as though composing herself. “Nikita and I both weren’t real, obviously. But I think, in a lot of ways, Nikita was like my opposite. I _wanted_ to be real. I wanted to be in the real world and surrounded by real people. But she didn’t. She had no disillusions about what she was. She had accepted that she wasn’t real, and never made an attempt to deny or change that. I think _this_ is the reason that her memories couldn’t be wiped. Because how could you wipe the memories of something that isn’t real? But I _wanted_ to be real. And I think that simple change in perspective was all it took for my memories to be at risk.”

            “And what about now?” I asked.

            “For me?” She was quiet for a moment, glancing down at the campsite. “I don’t know. What I _do_ know is that I’m happy now. So I don’t want to worry about things like that. I’m with my friends, and my friends are happy too, and our work is finally done. That’s what matters the most to me.”

            “And… for her?”

            She considered it, frowning. “It’s hard to say. It’s possible that the prison didn’t actually delete her the way she’d planned, and she’s still existing somewhere, or will soon. I don’t think we can ever really say for sure. If she _did_ come back, then it would be up to her whether she returns to us. And if she didn’t… well, she got what she wanted. What she wanted wasn’t very good, but maybe it made her happy, you know? There’s something to be said for that.”

            There was a pause. “Do you… miss her, or something?” Aaron asked, with a note of confusion.

            “Oh, um…” I glanced away, towards the Ankh that Olivia had constructed. It was a shrine to the dead. To all of them. “No, I… I don’t think so. I was just curious. And I don’t mean that as a bad thing! I _do_ sort of wish she was here. But it’s not… well, it’s complicated.”

            “I think I understand,” Olivia said.

            “I don’t,” Aaron muttered.

            I laughed a little. “Maybe I can explain it some other time, Aaron. The words really aren’t here right now.”

            We were all quiet for a little while. The sun was beginning to disappear behind the horizon, dipping the sky in dark colors. Soft light effused us from all directions. The lake seemed a shivering mirror, shaking out the colors and reflecting them back at us from below. I felt strangely full of light, as though all of it were somehow a part of me.

            Olivia laughed suddenly. She hugged me, and then turned and hugged Aaron, and then was dissatisfied with this and put an arm around each of us. “I’m very happy,” she said.

            “Me too,” Aaron said in a small voice.

            I nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

            Only a little while longer, footsteps approached from the ridge of the cliff. The three of us turned as one to see Zach standing there, blinking, with the fading light framing him and the forest as a picture or a film reel. “What are you guys doing?”

            “Just watching the sunset,” I said.

            Olivia nodded. “It’s very pretty.”

            He sat and joined us, sitting next to Aaron. And after a little while, more footsteps and voices came up the ridge; and then Haley was there, and then Tristan, and then Izzy and Laura, and then Bree and Dexter, and then Calise, following the dying light. Not everyone made it, but I didn’t mind. The cliff side was crowded enough as it is, and I’m sure the others were pretty tired.

            We watched as the sun dipped over the edge of the lake, just visible where the horizon eclipsed it, and then slipped out of sight. Its bright, burning rays of fire extinguished over the edge of the water, winking back up at us as they faded into nighttime. Stars settled in the blue-black blanket of the sky. The moon appeared in the distance, glowing ice-blue, settling comfortably over the picture of earth that spread out beneath us like a map, illuminating the world—illuminating reality—as it was, and would continue to be, even as snow and rain and earthquakes and fire and change shook it to its very core.

            “That was really nice,” Zach said when it was all over.

            And he was right. It was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue is named after Homestuck, a fitting coincidence to the fact that Homestuck ended two days ago. I actually got very close to finishing this story ON 4/13, which would have been very strange indeed. I actually like being a few days after the fact, though. In a way this almost feels MORE appropriate. Anyway, why "At the Price of Oblivion"? Well, I think this ending is won at the price of oblivion. Characters had to suffer and go through a lot of pain in order to get here; people in the real world had to suffer and go through a lot of pain in order to get here. Our ending was won at oblivion, and now it will take us into a new oblivion; the future.
> 
> Time for some stats, everyone's favorite. By the standards of my Word Document:  
> Pages: 776  
> Word Count: 238,084  
> Characters (with spaces): 1,288,115  
> Paragraphs: 7,018  
> Time since the first chapter was posted: 12 months and 21 days  
> Comments upon completion: 15  
> Kudos upon completion: 22  
> Bookmarks upon completion: 2  
> Hits upon completion: 688
> 
> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
> Good god. What really can be said here that hasn't already been said somewhere else? To everyone who made it this far: the deepest thanks I can muster. This story was crafted through my very blood, but without all of your support it never would have been finished. Re:kin_dux, truly, belongs to all of you. 
> 
> Like last time, I'd like to take a moment to list a few things I would change in the event of a rewrite.  
> 1\. Develop Jacob more earlier on. His suicide came off as a little cheap because we really didn't know enough about him for it to feel earned.  
> 2\. More AJ. Unlike Jacob, I felt as though she got enough attention, but I still wanted more of her. AJ was cool, man.  
> 3\. Restructure Malcolm's death. Part of the importance of Chapter One is that the first death needs to have a lot of punch, in order to unseat the audience and get them on their toes--while Malcolm's death was fairly effective, in comparison to Re:kindle's first death this one quite frankly fucking sucked. Nothing about it was surprising or unexpected. Re-doing my approach to Malcolm's character could have fixed this.  
> 4\. Redo a lot of Chapters 2 and 3. While they work as-is, the mystery and intrigue doesn't really feel like it's gaining a lot of steam during this time. It feels like we're just biding time until Mads decides to try and kill Nikita--which is, honestly, what we were doing. But the events of 2 and 3 are still very important, so they need a rewrite to better highlight that importance.  
> 5\. Have Nikita literally say, during the Prologue, "There is no crack in the wall." I cheated a bit by having her never directly address it. I think the overall reveal would have been more effective if she DID address it, only for Mads to dismiss her.  
> 6\. More Laura. I can never get enough Laura.  
> 7\. More Aaron, but in his case more for plot reasons than anything else. While his character has a good build, I think I could have made it better by establishing him as a kinda odd, kinda contradictory enigma earlier in the story. I was worried that I might draw too much attention to him, which was why we ended up getting so little of him during the first half of the story. Now I realize that drawing attention to him wouldn't have been a problem at all.  
> 8\. More consistency with Zach's self-loathing. It plays out pretty good as-is, but his decision to fight MD might have had a stronger punch if we'd known more about Zach's motivations earlier on.  
> 9\. Go a bit more in-depth about what happened on the night when everyone went to the campsite. I explain that the others tried to save them and were kidnapped by Sou and Dexter, but I sort of gloss over it. It wouldn't have hurt to spend a bit more time on this.  
> 10\. Address all the fucking talking in this story? It's not necessarily a problem--I mean, Re_dux is a story about communication. But EVERYONE IS FUCKING TALKING ALL THE FUCKING TIME. The balance between prose v. dialogue is very different in this story in comparison to how it was in Re:kindle. Again, not necessarily a problem. But in the event of a rewrite, I would be highly aware of this.  
> 11\. Here's the weird, major revision one: switch protagonists from Mads to Zach. I think Zach would have been a cooler protagonist, especially because of the badass reveal we would get during Chapter One when, due to memory loss, he ends up solving the murder that HE committed. In this scenario, I would have Mads attempt killing Nikita much earlier, and thus gain all their information from this, which would become a source of mystery for Zach; he would end up suspecting Mads just like they suspected him. I know that's kind of a weird and intense revision idea, but if I really ever did a rewrite, I would definitely try it out. 
> 
> From the bottom of my heart, thank you for journeying through this tangled story web with me.


End file.
